It's About Time
by Jonas Grant
Summary: A bunch of renegades and pariahs attempt to escape from Braxis and find themselves in a dark future, where there is only war and death on scales such that the Zerg might as well have been an ant infestation, and something seems to be working behind the scene to incite all out warfare.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Needed to get this out of my head, I like the WH40K setting and wanted to send some foreign elements into it, but 40k is extremely overpowered, given Games Workshop apparent desire to outgun every other universes out there, so it might not be completely accurate, it migh cause some rage, it might even make you want to stop reading and that's cool, ain't like I'm being paid or anything, but I can assure you, if you just keep an open mind, because I also use a pretty unorthodox style, you'll have fun. Might not be the greatest read of a lifetime, but it will be worth the eyebleed you'll get from all the traditions I break.**_

_**That or you'll utterly hate it, there's rarely an inbetween with this kind of stories.**_

_**As Han Solo once said, NEVER TELL ME THE ODDS. Whatever that means, although I'd be glad to hear your arguments as to why I should reconsider force reports. Be polite and you'll be more than welcome to tell me how much I suck at life :D**_

**Welcome to Braxis Penitential Facility Network Intelligence.**

**Login:ArkansasM**

**Password:**********

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Welcome, Director Arkansas.**

**/Accs_RootBPFNI-ADMIN**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Administrator Priviledges Granted.**

**/MnGrd_0**

**/PwrGenMain_0**

**/PwrGenAux_0**

**/EmrgLD_1**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Main Defense Grid: Offline.**

**Primary Generator: Offline.**

**Secondary Generator: Offline.**

**Emergency Lockdown: Enacted.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**/D149-Opn**

**/D222-Opn**

**/D501-Opn**

**/D732-Opn**

**/HngBDr-Opn**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Door149: Open**

**Door222: Open**

**Door501: Open**

**Door732: Open**

**Hangar B Door: Open**

**/Accs_Cnvtfl-28470**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Accessing Personal Files**

**Convict: Kerensky, Vincent**

**DoB: 09/23/2471(33)**

**Height: 190cm**

**Weight: 112kg**

**Hairs: Black**

**Eyes: Green**

**Known Crimes:**

**Manslaughter**

**Grand Theft Auto**

**Qualified Theft**

**Desertion**

**Probation Violation**

**Rape**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed)**

**Forced labor**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Confederate Marine Corps.**

**Reaper Corps.**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/Accs_Cvtfl28488**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Convict: Worst, Karen**

**DoB: -**

**Height: 170cm**

**Weight: 67kg**

**Hairs: Brown**

**Eyes: Brown**

**Known Crimes:**

**Insubordination**

**Attempted Manslaughter**

**Perjury**

**Murder, First degree**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed.)**

**Forced Labor.**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Ghost Program**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/Accs_Cvtfl28466**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Convict: Fauster, Gregor**

**DoB: 11/16/2460 (44)**

**Height: 204cm**

**Weight: 166kg**

**Hairs: Gray**

**Eyes: Blue**

**Known Crimes:**

**Murder, Second and first degree**

**Drunk driving**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed.)**

**Forced Labor.**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Mar Sara Militia**

**Sons Of Korhal**

**Dominion Marine Corps.**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/Accs_Cnvtfl28469**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Convict: Kudrenkov, Sven**

**DoB: -**

**Height: 188cm**

**Weight: 86kg**

**Hairs: Brown**

**Eyes: Gray (Formerly Brown-Green)**

**Known Crimes:**

**Manslaughter**

**Insubordination**

**High Treason**

**Destruction of Government assets**

**Grand Theft Auto**

**Identity Theft**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed.)**

**Forced Labor.**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Ghost Program**

**Project SHADOWBLADE**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/Accs_Cnvtfl28500**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Convict: Darka, Hannah**

**DoB: 01/27/2475(29)**

**Height: 158cm**

**Weight: 59kg**

**Hairs: Purple**

**Eyes: Black**

**Known Crimes:**

**Larceny**

**Murder, First degree**

**Impersonating an Officer**

**Treason**

**Drug Manufacturing**

**Drug Trafficking**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed.)**

**Forced Labor.**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Tarsonis Paramedical Response Service**

**Dominion Medical Corps.**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/SetAllCrntSts_Deceased**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Set all Convicts Current Statuses to: Deceased? [Y]/N**

**Y**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Warning, All BPF Residents Deceased.**

**/Format_RootBPFNI:**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Goodbye**

I wave the computer as it flickers off "Bye."

Hacking is a very easy task for a Spectre; I just had to use elementary Technopathy to convice the computer I was the Prison's director and it gave me full access.

I step away from the monitor and scan the dimly lit room.

The Director's office is pretty cramped with my convict pals, those who's files I just brought up, strewn around. Greg and Vincent are guarding the door with their shivs ready while Karen and Hannah search the place for weapons.

I like to know who I'm dealing with, even though I could easily read their minds to find what I want, Neural resocialislization makes such process unreliable. In any event, my new friends are exactly what I expected, although Karen, knowing I stuck my nose in her file, slaps the back of my head.

Hannah looks at the former Ghost, worried that she'll enact a psychotic break from me.

Heh, she's afraid I'll slit her throat in her sleep… I'm not the one she should fear, Karen is, but the former medic seems to think the tall, white eyed guy is more of a threat than the small and harmless Dominion assassin.

Shit, I killed less peoples than she did and I'm the crazy one…

"Sven," Karen growls, "Shut the fuck up."

Whatever, cranky Ghost bitch… She's pissed off because she rated nine on the Psi Index and never expected anyone to surpass that, yet I had a rating of eight before SHADOWBLADE. Now it must be somewhere between nine and eleven…

"Yeah, yeah, you're a tough psychic," She whines, "Can we get going now?"

"I wasn't aware that this was my call…" I give her a wide smile.

Seriously, though, may act like a dumbass, but while the dumbass was trading jabs with the Ghost, the Spectre was also remote viewing the whole way to the exit and I now know it's crawling with convicts and guards.

Quite frankly, Karen may be a weaker psychic, she's a far better leader, so after sharing this information with the girl, I step back and let her do her shit.

"Okay, we'll have to fight to get out of here. Sven will take point, Vincent, you cover the right flank and Gregor will take left, I'll bring up the rear with Hannah."

I squeeze past the two mountains of muscle, sensing their heavily contrasting minds on the way.

Gregor used to have a family on Mar Sara and joined the militia to protect them from the Zergs. It failed, however, as the Colonial Magistrate sent him on a patrol to Blackwater station and, by the time the militiaman came back home, his whole family was kaput, torn to shred by the Zergs.

He latter joined the Dominion Marines in the hope that he would die in the process, but that never came and he only ended up causing others the same kind of pain he had felt. This made him really pissed, to the point that he got himself drunk, killed everyone in his section and took a Vulture hoverbike for a spin trough town, hoping he'd finally get killed.

He crashed the bike in a house and killed four innocents. Then, before he realized what had happened, he was on Braxis, mining ice.

Vincent, on the other end, only remembers the smell of oranges, blood on his hands, satisfaction and then, being trained to be a Reaper. He doesn't give a fuck what he did before, he loves killing 'toss and bugs so much, humans are boring now. How he ended in prison is a very complicated story, which means the dumbass himself doesn't know for sure.

The corridor itself is large enough for four men to stand side by side with room to spare, yet we keep a tight formation. Bad idea when peoples can shoot at you, as it can get everyone in the team hit by a single burst, but with us Specters, the rules change…

There is a curve ten meters ahead and four wooden doors on both sides of the hall.

I point the last on the right, "Guys with shivs about to bust trough them," then to the bend, on the left. "Two Marines set up there."

Karen already knew, but I'm the pointman, it's my job to call out shit like that.

She distributes orders trough suggestion directly in our brains. I hate it and send her a mild psionic spike in retribution, causing a slight jump on her part. Yet another trick I can do that she cannot.

Now, my job is to dispatch the Marines without damaging their suits, so our two grunts can get some firepower. Easy as pie. Okay, I can't cook for shit, so let's say easy as Pi.

3,14159265…

I remove my prisoner shirt, since orange is the worst camouflage ever, and tie the sleeves around my waist. The white t-shirt underneath isn't that much better.

Now, which way would be the best? Fry their brains would cause nose and ear bleed and that would not be optimal for whoever wears the suit next, psionically choking them would be dangerous, given the amount of time that leaves for some retaliation attempt…

Answer? I'll lockdown their armors and choke them… Gonna be fun.

As soon as we get 'ambushed' by the convicts behind the doors, I sprint trough the two meters between the bend and me, coming face to face with the Marines.

They aim their C-14s at me, but only earn a dry click and some electrical buzzing from pressing the trigger.

I flick the switches on the side of their armors, just like I'd do with a lightswitch except from ten feet away, and they both freeze as I cut their air supply. Getting to hear their thoughts as they die is one downside of my job.

Carl, the one on the right thinks he should have called in sick this morning and went to Bacchus moon as planned, while Lenny, the one on the left regrets skipping breakfast this morning, as he'll now die hungry.

Peoples think very strange stuff when their time has come. One time, I killed a guy who regretted never owning a dog.

Both guys finally die while, behind us, the two convicts are disarmed and knocked on the floor.

Worst quickly read their minds and I just read hers.

One's a child molester and quite simply can't be trusted, the other is a pyromaniac and former fireman who turned himself in after his first crime.

The former gets his throat cut open with his own knife while the latter is helped back on his feet and gets integrated to our happy little family.

Vincent gives the dead man's knife to Karen and when I ask why, she answers that I don't need one, since I'm such a powerful psychic.

Think I detected a hint of sarcasm, but hey, I'm just a moronic psychopathic psychic, not a psychologist!

"Alright, smartass, can you unseal these suits?"

I walk up to the downed Marines without a word and touch their helmets. A little Technopathic talk with the onboard computers gets them open in thirty seconds flat. That's actually long, but Worst's presence in my brain slowed down the process. She tries to be subtle when trying to observe my powers, but to a Terrazine enhanced high level psychic such as me, she's as subtle as a train wreck.

"Milady requires anything else?" I ask, bowing.

Vincent wants to take one of the suits, but is shoved away by Greg's massive shoulder. The former Marine decided that was his armor. Vince doesn't object.

Gregor may not like Vincent, the other man still views him as a role model, given his badass scars and attitude.

The suits are the open top CMC-400 variants, allowing the wearers to remove the shoulder and helmet parts, allowing them to gear up in two minutes, more or less.

The guys will take a while putting on their suit, so I carefully scan every room on our path.

Kinda hoped I'd find an armory, but no such luck, only supply rooms.

So I scan the hangar itself. There is a battle there between guards and convicts.

"Worst!" I call, "Check this shit out!" And I send her the RV image of the hangar. The effort and Terrazine withdrawal makes me shake uncontrollably for a few seconds, but it soon subsides, replaced by the usual withdrawal effects…

The ship I saw is round, segmented with four engines and a protruding control booth. No weapons, but enough room to house ten thousand peoples, at least.

All in all, the thing looks roughly like an oversized potato that crash-landed into a scrap yard…

"We need a pilot." She mumbles, knowing full well we'll have to do some mind digging to find one in the crowd battling inside the hangar.

Fact is, we'll need an engineer, navigator, cook… A whole crew, and I think we won't need to assemble it.

That supply ship didn't come here by itself, did it? We just need to convince its crew to help us, once we find them…

Karen is still plugged to my brain and she likes that idea, so she decides it will be my job to find out where they are, seeing as I can handle myself just fine. A year spend mining ice and minerals in this freeze box with minimal rations and free time has gotten pretty much everyone in this slam hard as neosteel, but I received close combat training from the day I was eight and have my psi powers to help me out.

For the time being, however, I'll stick with the group, since we're going in the same direction… We don't have much choice in the matter; I locked down every other sections of the prison.

Vincent calls my name, from the left, so I turn and catch the makeshift knife he was carrying, nodding in thanks.

The ex-reaper just lifts his Gauss rifle, itching to kill something with it.

The new guy, Alan Kade, has his own knife already, so Hannah finally gets a weapon, even though I don't see the frail woman stabbing anyone…

Ahead, the hallway stretches on fifty meters and ends with a flight of stairs. I scan it, but feel nothing, so I call the all clear and we get moving.

There are force fields every ten meters, but Worst and I psionically shut them all down along the way. The trip itself is eventless, and even if it hadn't been, we got the firepower to knock an Ultralisk out of commission.

One we reach the stairs, Greg and Vince both take up position to the right while Karen and I set up to the left. Hannah and Alan just stand aside and let us do our shit.

Beyond the bulkhead we're covering behind are two flights of ten stairs, barely large enough to accommodate two armored men, and on top of these is a pair of Marines with ballistic alloy shields and five light infantrymen waiting to tear us to shred.

I go first, Vincent shadowing me, and use a little trick my Ghost instructor called 'Fuck with their brains', telling the two Marines that there are Zergs crawling behind them while fueling their fear with nightmarish images of twisted corpses and deformed monsters.

They spin and unload their rifles at point blank into their five unarmored pals, turning the men into fine paste.

Before they can even say 'woops' Vince basically ass rape them with 8mm subsonic spikes.

"Gruesome!" I laugh, holding myself on the man's shoulder pad for a second. I need my fix.

Shaking myself a bit to project a psi shield, I run up next to Vince and, once we're on top, telekinetically lift one of the AGR-14s the light boys were packing and snatch it off the air in time to shoot down a pair of guards.

To the right, Vince is spraying a cluster of convicts with his own rifle. Sparks fly from all around them and one is even knocked to the ground by the air disruptions, but no one dies. Not sure if this was done on purpose.

The guards came in from the hangar while the convicts crawled trough the air duct. I mind probe every of them and find out they are mostly mercs, which is why they stuck together; three are War Pigs, one is Hammer security, another's a Dusk Wing and the last one is an Hel's Angel.

Professionals, incarcerated in another part of the slam, but smart enough to know that if they want out, they got to find the hangar, so they crawled trough the air ways from the beginning of this shit, finally ending up here, hidden in the air circulation system and waiting for someone to take out that checkpoint.

Two women, four men, all veterans of the Great War, like us. Although one must admit we all don't look like much with our faded orange prison uniforms, turned into very efficient camouflage suits by all the dust and grime.

I like these guys already and Karen agrees that we should extend an invite to our little party. I don't say anything; instead, I mentally kick two AGR-14 their way and physically lower Vince's rifle. The leader, a black guy called Dylan, picks a rifle off the floor and nods.

I salvage and distribute whatever gear I find still usable on the corpses and we get a move on.

We're standing at the edge of the hangar when I suddenly freeze, sensing something from the Hel's Angel and Dusk Wing. Knowledge.

Vince, Greg and the Mercs are quick to join the fray, but I stop the two pilots, one's a Viking driver, the other is a Banshee pilot.

"You guys can fly that scrap yard?" I point to the supply ship and they both nod.

"Nothin' to it, darlin'" The Banshee girl laughs, "Dave an' I can fly or drive anythin' ya want."

I like her, but then, I like just about everyone that gets the job done. I inform Karen of the new development and she informs me that there is something in a nearby supply room I should check.

Ghosts are weaker than Specter, but much more focused and careful, knowing this, I'm not amazed she felt something while I didn't, but am just a little irked I didn't smell it first…

Terrazine Infuser. _My_ Terrazine Infuser. They took it from me when I first arrived, along with my suit, gear and rifle. Maybe the whole stuff's in there… I hope so, anyway.

I'm addicted to the stuff, Terrazine I mean, it makes me strong and stops the shakes dead. Of course, I don't really need it anymore, since my body has built up a supply sufficient to keep me at my level of power for few decades, but fact is, I've seen Specters attempt to quit the stuff and end up totally fucking their brains, so I still use the infuser at a very low setting, as a mean to slowly quit the stuff…

My decision made, I sprint trough the hangar and away from the team. A Guard notices me and I must dive behind a pair of metal crates to avoid the onslaught of Gauss rounds.

They stick into the metal, glowing white hot and forming three white hedgehogs.

There are more crates ahead, a full blown war to the left and a wall to the right…

I creep into the man's brain, but am too weak to make him shoot himself. Istead, I convince that kid I'm actually behind those crates, just ahead.

He aims his gun there and I fire a single spike trough his skull.

"Good night." A cheesy one liner is all the apologies he'll ever get.

I leap from cover and fire a burst into another group of Light Infantry who were coming to investigate. I miss one, but the convicts are quick to overwhelm him and loot his gear.

Sixty-six rounds remaining. To a grunt, it's not a lot, to a trained sniper like me? Well, it would be plenty if I had a scope and nobody shooting at me, right now, it's still not a lot.

I slide under a stream of C-14 fire and drift behind cover just in time to avoid being fried by a firebat. A quick suggestion in the guy's resocced brain convinces him he should check on the two Marines advancing on my position…

Nah, you don't need to stop flaming, what's wrong with fire?

The Perdition twin linked plasma-based flame throwers do not penetrate the CMC-400 suits, but it does cook the wearers alive.

By the time they're dead and the Firebat is shot down by other Marines, I'm already inside the supply room, surveying it for the faint psionic 'smell' of Terrazine.

There are ammunition crates all over and a few weapon ones as well. I spot a crate containing C-10 rifles as well as a few explosive canister boxes, which I toss next to the door. I don't like C-10s, they shoot slowly and limit their users to a sniper role, AGR-28 DMRs are much better, in my opinion, but Karen is a Ghost and Ghosts use C-10s, so I'm taking the guns with me, as soon as I've found my Infuser…

I know it's somewhere in those square boxes, out back, but can't pinpoint where.

Enough bullshit; I psi blast the whole room, tearing every boxes apart and lifting everything touched by Terrazine at eye level.

There, found it! The silver helmet and glowing red optics are glaring at me, as if shocked and angry that I found them… The things were custom made for me and they fit perfectly around my head and face.

The HUD takes a second to initialize and soon warns me that no Hazardous Environment Suits have been detected, which means no increased strength, speed or durability.

"Shut up and pump the juice!" I growl and the machine.

Soon, my nose and mouth are filled with blood tasted gas and the HUD points out I have a week before I need a refill.

Perfect.

My hands stop shaking and my mouth quickly dry up while I get that feeling of liberation that comes with the first rays of sun after a particularly violent storm, not violent, but sweet as a whisper, rolling trough me like blood flavored honey.

The helmet is linked to a small box that I tie up to my belt awkwardly. It's meant to be secured on specially made clamps, in the back of my Spectre suit, but that'll do for now.

I walk out of the room, into the utter chaos beyond and send deafening a psionic whisper to every guard and convicts in the area, accompanied by a great deal of irrational terror and an image of my helmet. A nifty trick I used on Drelor VI to disperse a crowd quickly.

"_Hell is here."_

The whisper spreads across the room like wave, making every single person present attempt to get the fuck away from me.

Such a feat would have drained me mentally just a minute ago, but now that my body has had it's Terrazine fix, I am a fucking god. Of course, had Karen not helped bounce my Psi wave, I most likely wouldn't have affected half as many people, but now, everyone is just starring at me, terrified.

I creep in the heads of two Firebats and have them detonate their own fuel tanks while making a pair of especially weak minded Marines shoot themselves.

Needless to say, resoc or no, everyone runs the fuck out of my way and I simply walk up to the supply ship, keeping my mind open for any sort of aggressive thoughts. There are none, Karen is keeping the fear at very high levels and it paralyzes even the bravest of these bastards. I make it to the loading ramp in a minute or so, but that's long enough for Worst to turn ghostly pale and sick looking from the constant effort.

Shit, she ain't a Spectre, she can actually die from this!

I turn my attention back to the crowd and replace Karen as she collapses in Alan's arm. Behind me, the boxes clatter on the floor, breaking my focus long enough for pretty much everyone in the room to shake me out of their minds…

That technique can backfire quite badly, should the targets shake free, seeing as I suddenly become everyone's priority target.

Fortunately, this time around I'm in the ship and the ramp closes by the time everyone has truly awakened.

That was close…


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, unrelated note, I just found Sven's theme song xD Voodoo, by Godsmack...**

**Blackhole1: Thanks :D, yeah, let's just say there are no fluffy bunnies in their immediate future ^^' and I'd rather avoid having to gear them up with local stuff, StarCraft equipment might not be as beefed up as 40k's it still has its perks...**

**Ogi: Quite right! But why the nitpick? here I thought they went at mach5, so any possible mistakes were ****involuntary :S**

**Enilas: Yeah, although I doubt twelve Terrans could pull that off...**

* * *

><p>The Revenant –That's the name of the cargo freighter- is meant to house thousands of peoples, yet there is twelve of us, so we get plenty of personal space and I fully intend to use it and isolate myself for a bit.<p>

I'm now set up in the armory, using the automated systems to manufacture a Spectre outfit. Nothing to it, really, it's just about bringing up the right schematics and having access to the right material, and god damn does this ship have enough material! It's filled with all we mined in the last year; Vespene, raw minerals, spare Neosteel plates, water and even an tiny amount of Terrazine.

Tiny, but sufficient to see me trough that addiction, if I go easy on the Jorium, because without Jorium, Terrazine would either kill me, or fry my brain… Maybe Hannah can synthesize some… I'll have to ask her…

Trough the glass before me, tiny arms assemble the supple psi-sensitive muscle layer, the temperature regulating coating, and, finally, the bulletproof weave, laced together so tightly it becomes perfectly airtight.

I know for a fact I could easily survive in space with this thing on, for a time, anyway.

The under layer assembled, the machines withdraw and glowing hot plates of Neosteel protrude from the wall, just next to the suit, nothing more than a glorified diving suit, for the moment.

Mechanical claws and pincers torture two small plates until they look like the top part of human forearms, without fingers, then cool them down and the tiny arms begin assembling circuitry into these with the speed and dedication of ants or bees…

Once both arms are done, they are installed on the soft under layer, circuitry linking up with the weave. The arms then repeat the process with two more pieces, forming the lower forearm part, soon followed by the fingers, then the chest piece, back and so on.

Spectres are not as rigid as Ghosts, we all have our own preferences for our suits; mine just has the same type of armor plates as the Ghost variant, the male one, anyway.

I never understood why we changed the HE Suit when SHADOWBLADE was enacted. The design was good in my book.

Finally, the Nyx-class cloak generator is installed and the window recedes into the floor.

I'm finally going to get a real suit. Been a while since I haven't worn something NOT orange…

The suit is tight and very formfitting, but comfortable enough and the armor plates prevent me from looking like some retarded super-hero.

At first it is dark, but I link up my helmet to the rest and quickly restore alimentation.

The power source? My brain. It does cause some mental fatigue after a while, but so long as I don't do anything too straining and have my regular dose of Terrazine, it doesn't matter.

Angry red light pulses all over the suit, erratically at first, like a heart with arrhythmic disorder, but it soon grows more steady, pulsing in two parallel lines staring at my feet and ending in my gauntlets.

After first pulse climbs its way along my body, a pair of round Psi capacitors, located on my gauntlets, burn the same blood red shade. Finally, I close the helmet and begin customizing the onboard computer…

First order of business is to download my personal music playlist off the internet, second is to 'attune' the systems to my brain waves, allowing smoother commands and last is to play Terran Up the Night so loud I can't hear _anyone_ thinking.

A quick scan of this part of the ship reveals there is an empty room right above mine, so I pick up my duffle bag and make my way there.

As I walk, I actively resume searching my damaged memory for glimpses of my past, something I took to doing on my free time.

Don't get me wrong, who I was doesn't matter now, I'm a Spectre and I love it, I just enjoy the mental puzzle that is my brain.

I grew up in a farm, on a green lush planet, helping my father grow crops in the morning and playing with my dog the rest of the day. I don't remember the dog's name, just that it was a doodle, one of these genetically engineered companion I had worked very hard to buy.

Time went on like that, I was happy just messing around and knowing I would inherit the farm. I felt safe, everything was perfect… Then the Confederates requisitioned the farm, or tried to, anyway, but my father resisted them, so they killed him and, as a result, I killed them.

I remember the blood. So much blood… Pulling someone's insides trough their throat leaves quite a mess, so does making their head pop…

I reach the room and push the memories out. I haven't slept in a real bed for a long time, so I'll just eat something, work out and go to bed.

My helmet hisses of and land on the bed, in the right corner of the room.

The left side just has a writing desk and there is a one and a half meter wide space between it and the bed. I sit directly on the floor, grabbing an MRE from my duffel bag.

Wow, they managed to perfectly replicate the taste of cardboard!

Legs crossed, I much on the thing while trying to convince my body that I weight nothing. At first it scoffs at me, citing bullshit like gravity…

I knew a Wraith pilot who said "Gravity, pal, it's not just a good idea, it's the law."

He was wrong. I just need to convince every cells of my body that he was.

It begins with a feeling of lightness, like Zero gravity, then I get butterflies in the stomach and my body slowly wins the struggle against the artificial gravity. I soon find myself hovering inches from the floor, legs crossed like some levitation master from… Somewhere, I dunno.

Ever since I found out I could levitate somewhat, I've been doing it every chance I get. I even use it to run up high walls and increase my jumping range. It's not really a substitute to dropships or jetpacks, but it can get me out of a tight spot or save me from a potentially deadly fall… If I have the time to convince my body that it is floating, anyway.

I slowly unfold my legs and lean back, hands behind my head.

That's right, bitch, I sleep in a psi hammock, you got a problem with that? Of course it takes an effort to hold myself up like that, but not nearly as much as actual telekinesis would and, in any event, my subconscious will keep me up from the moment I pass out.

Tosh showed me this trick; honing one's mind by sleeping. Doesn't work on complex manipulations though, only with more passive stuff like regenerative meditation, psi screens and, well, passive levitation.

0

0

0

"So, Alan asked the Ghost and Hammer Security merc," They all sat at the cantina, eating stuff reserved for officers, "What did you guys do?"

Worst simply took a sip on her light beer, but the large black man was much more outgoing.

"Me I was with them Hammer boys, but seems I blew something I shouldn't have…"

Vince crashed into the table pretty much at that moment, right between Alan and Dylan and bleeding out the corner of his mouth.

Dylan turned to see the War Pig girl, wrapping a cloth around her hand, holding herself into a low combat position.

"Just try and grope my ass again, you fucking pig." She spat. Vince smiled and hoped off the table, ready for a fight, but Alan stopped him.

Vince was a young and lean bastard while Alan was ten years older and much more bulky, this might have been a fair fight in other circumstances, but now Alan had his hand on the Reaper, preventing the kid from using speed to his advantage.

Of course, Vince didn't realize that, tried to punch Alan, landed a good hit and ended up knocked across the room as fast as he would with jump jets, before reaching a smashing stop at the feet of Gregor, who picked the dazzled man up before shoving him on a chair.

"Stay." He stayed. "What happened here?" He boomed, his authoritative voice causing even the hard as Neosteel mercs to look at their boots.

He scowled, a scowl that would have made Clint Eastwood proud, not that the old militiaman would have known him, and glared at the War Pigs girl.

"How about you, kid? Got enough grit to tell me what the fuck that was about?"

She gulped loudly and spoke with a small voice, "Sir, the guy… The guy groped my left cheek and made an improper comment about…"

Gregor's body language shut her up; his large shoulders rising slowly in pace with his breathing. "So you figured you'd punch him? Exactly how old are you, Marine?" She moved to answer, but her mouth clapped shot as he shot her a death glare.

Dylan laughed and earn a stare of his own.

"Seems you kids need some form of authority figure, so from now on, you'll address me as Sergeant Major Fauster, Sarge or Sir. Anyone got a problem with that?"

Karen seemed about to say something herself, but Gregor saw it coming and added : "As for the Ghost girl, she's gonna be Ma'am, Lieutenant or Boss. Anything else can and will get you mind raped."

He turned to Vince next, "Behave yourself, Vince, or you'll get tossed out the airlock."

"Copy that, Sarge." The Reaper answered, perfectly military like.

"Now, you play nice, kids, I'm going to check on our other Ghost…" He was about to leave the room when Karen's soft voice corrected him.

"Sven is not a Ghost."

That caused some shock, since none of them could envision someone gaining this kind of power outside Ghosts.

"What is he, then?" A redhead War Pig asked.

The ensuing silence was deafening. Gregor still stood in the doorway, waiting to know the answer.

It came almost a minute later; "He's a Spectre."

She then explained Spectres were Ghosts made even more powerful trough exposure to Terrazine and Jotium, causing them to climb one or more levels on the Psi Index.

"Wait a sec, baby, we could all become Ghosts from takin' that stuff?" Dylan asked, sounding somewhat eager. This actually made Worst laugh.

"No, you could all become psychotic murderers addicted to a drug so rare even the Dominion can't find reliable reserves and that would end up killing you."

Gregor wondered if this guy was half as bad as the Ghost made him out to be. Of course, he kept that hidden from Karen, all the while picturing a brick wall or a vault door to shield his thoughts.

If Sven was such a psycho, why would he have helped all these peoples in the time they spend together in the freezing work camp? Giving away some of his food, stopping fights and using his psi powers to heal frost bites and such, stuff Karen herself had never done, instead focusing her strength and time on plotting their escape.

To the veteran, it felt more like the two were just two sides of the same coin. One was extremely powerful, intense and laconic, the other was hyper lethal, cold and strictly business.

He preferred the Ghost, however, the Spectre was a lone wolf and unpredictable. Heck, he said it himself when they first met, 'I ride solo and I go wherever I feel like.'

In front of him, two tables away, Karen had finished explaining why the guy was a time bomb pumped full of psychoactive drugs and subject to unprovoked and violent killing sprees.

The redhead snickered at that, "So says the Dominion, how do you know?"

Worst had no answer.

Alan sat back and thought about it while Greg left the room, behind him, the War Pigs resumed eating and Dylan did the same.

0

0

0

I smile. Ghosty got her mouth slapped shut, didn't she.

"Hi, Hannah." I call to the Medic standing in the doorway, a bewildered plastered on her face, "May I help you?"

She blinks, "You're flying."

"Hovering, yes, would you like to try?" I offer, still smiling, arms folded behind my head and floating a meter above the floor.

She pales and back away, "N… Nah, I'm good… I wanted to know if you knew where I could find medical supplies…"

Despite her attempts to hide it, I hear her wonder what it would be like to have sex while floating in the air like that, so I must focus not to laugh at her face.

"I'm afraid not…" I kick myself in a back flip and land on my feet, facing her, "Although I was wondering if you could create a counter agent for me once you get some sort of laboratory set up." One flick of my wrist brings my infuser in my hand, causing even more unease on the medic's part. I should wait until we're done to put the helmet on, but what the heck.

She watches with more interest than fear as I hook up every tubes.

"So?"

Hannah shakes herself as her mind goes trough every kind of drugs I could possibly be doing, and decides whatever it is, she may be able to make a profit out of it in the future. "Sure." Her smile is as fake as her hairs…

"Excellent" I quip squeezing past her, "Now I suggest you tell everyone to get geared up, there are plenty of suits down on in the cargo bay, then tell them to meet us on the bridge."

I'm walking away when she recover from the unease of being so close to me. "Why?"

Quoting some old movie, I take an old and patronizing voice, "Disturbance trough the force, I sense, ready, we must be…"

With that, I cloak and psi-sprint away to avoid having to explain the joke. Yoda isn't all that popular these days.

Psi sprint is simply a way to say I overcharge the suit's psi sensitive muscles fibers, effectively becoming twice as strong and fast as I was, but at the cost of four times the power consumption.

If I run over an hour in this mode without rest, I risk passing out, but right now, I only take seventy seconds to leap up the ladder to the next level and speed trough a few sets of dark hallways to finally arrive in the main cargo hold.

There, I find my old Spectre suit inside a crate with my prisoner tag printed on it, the thing is worn and beaten by the many combat it has seen. Can't say I'm disappointed to have gotten a new one, though, the old girl was falling apart. So I toss the armor aside and check out the rest of the crate.

My AGR-28 is lying there, dusty from the time spent unused, but still in prime condition, along with my Psi-enhanced Tanto and silenced P220 pistol. They even left the blood red Balisong –or butterfly knife- Tosh gave me when I graduated as a Spectre. I wonder if everyone else's equipment is in this ship as well, or if we left it in one of those crates back on Braxis.

One way or the other, there is plenty of gear in the cargo bay for them to replace theirs, while mine is much harder to come by.

Once I'm fully armed, I send a psi echo trough the freighter and analyze the feedback, drawing a mental map of the freighter. I don't remember where the bridge is…

There! I detect the distinct taste of the two pilots and overworked machinery and orient myself on those.

A few bulkheads and two ladders later, I emerge on the bridge, still cloaked.

The Banshee pilot, Irena, and the Viking driver, Dave, are walking from a display to another in complete incomprehension.

"_Why the heck is it doing that?" _is the clearest thought I can grasp, this tells me we're on the verge of some great scientific discovery, since they all started with similar sentences.

Eureka isn't all that popular, actually, and most certainly not going to happen here.

I uncloak and lean to one of the Warp jump monitors, but since I don't understand shit, I turn to the two pilots and speak in a hushed and soft tone, not to scare them into heart arrest "Enlighten me."

Might as well have fired a gunshot; they both leap and backpedal as fast as they can from me, despite the fact I was all the way across the room and there's four set of consoles and a command chair between us.

"Crap! Don't do that shit!" Irena snaps, spinning on herself in an attempt to ride off the adrenaline rush without punching someone. I grin under my helmet and Dave slowly eases away and step beside me.

"There was a mistake in calculating Warp coordinates…" He explains. He and Irena found some military uniforms in there and are both dressed as Lieutenants Commanders, with white pants and shirts. Kind funny to see, given the fact they still didn't get to take a bath.

"So?" Not only is my voice naturally rough, the Terrazine inhalations and gas mask make me sound like the devil himself, so I better keep it short if I don't want to spook out pilots.

The guy's not easily spooked, however, despite the earlier display. I just feel it.

"So? So I have no clue! Astronavigation computers say we're two parsecs off target, stars are all fucked and," He points at a computer to my left, "This ain't Mar Sara, that's damn sure."

Lush green plains, huge trees, swamps, a tropical planet without any seas, just lakes and rivers.

I went to Aiur once, as part of a deal with some Dark Templar, and this place looks a lot like the Protoss home world.

Greg walks in, fully suited in a brand new CMC-400 and a first gen Impaler in hand, he is followed by a War Pig, wearing a custom CMC armor with ballistic shield on the left shoulder and something that looks like the bastard child of an Impaler and a grenade launcher in hand, but his most remarkable feature is the helmet; it's not round like regular CMCs, but encompasses his head perfectly, leaving a roughly T-shaped plasteel visor for the guy to see.

Karen is next, clad in a perfectly white Hostile environment suit that hugs her shapes like a domina…

She slap the back of my head, hard.

Yeah, I guess I earned that one…

The Bridge is now so crowded, we resolve to just send the feed of Greg's suit to everyone.

I mentally brief Karen before Dave has started explaining, so we immediately begin a psychic conversation.

"_Nice suit, SHADOWBLADE model?"_ Karen begins, not really thinking it.

"_Yeah," _ I answer, smugly, _"Better Ghosts, better suit, logical, no?"_

"_Fuck you." _ I don't feel any anger in her voice, just annoyance at the fact I'm likely to be right. _"So, why no shoulder pads? The rest seems pretty close to the usual HES… Except for the color anyway…"_

"_Why shoulder pads? Since when are shoulders so vulnerable you need to sacrifice mobility and accuracy to protect them?"_

"_Alright, smartass, there is a whole flight of Dropships and Vikings down the hangar bay, think you can fly one?"_

"_Easily." _

"_Good, go there and wait for my signal, I have a feeling we'll need to speed up on this one."_

I nod once and cloak, feeling both tension and relief at my disappearance from the others. I guess I'll have to work on my aura or something, because it would seem I haven't gained their trust just yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Bad mojo on the way :D**

**Blackhole1: Don't worry, action will come :) and so will the plot...**

**Master of the Blood Wolves: I don't know enough about WH40k to know about subsectors and such, and I've read every single story Toasterman ever produced, he's inspired this fic, in fact :D**

As awesome as Vikings are, and as useful as Dropships can be, I still figure I'll need another type of ride, so I use the ship's assembly chain to create something better suited to me… I just need to type in the name of the ship I want.

**Wraith.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Construction in progress… **

**Completion in: 23:59:58**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Guess I'll take a Viking, this time around.

I'm not exactly trained for these, but I do have extensive knowledge on how to drive Goliath walkers and Wraith fighters, so I should be alright… I hope.

The nine ships are perfectly lined in front of the hangar door, six Vikings and three APOD-33 dropships, sitting behind the 'transformers', just bellow me.

I leap off the catwalk and use telekinesis to slow my fall, causing red flame-like psi energy to ripple around me as I descend.

My boot bang on the top of a Dropship, the sound echoing trough the room. It takes much effort to lift a human being trough telekinesis, but not nearly as much to just slow him down, so although I fell ten meters without a scratch, I am still somewhat stunned by the impact.

This lasts only a second, however, and I'm soon sitting in a Vicking's cockpit, studying the controls…

Okay… Big red button, green diodes… What's this funny suction hose for?

Fuck this, Dropship it'll be.

I try to step out, but my AGR is stuck between the seat and console. I use the K variant, the one shaped like a baby C-14, just to avoid this kind of problems and because I just plain like the boxy look. It's older than the S variant and cannot be silenced, but also got the option to have a grenade launcher and foldable stock installed; I _love_ blowing shit up and sniping just equally, so you can bet I got the full package…

And now the tip of the launcher won't fucking get out from the cockpit. I pull as hard as I can and the stock somehow hits me right in the eyebrows, cutting the bridge of my nose slightly in the process.

Damn, that's what I get for walking around with my visor lifted!

I stumble backward, my rifle in hand, but stumbling backward inside an opened cockpit can only end one way; I fall off the damn thing. And bear down on the floor face first. Good thing my psi powers are faster than me, as my subconscious uses a mix of levitation and telekinesis to flip me upright and make me land on my feet, like a cat.

Well, fortunately there was no one around to witness that… Let's get that Dropship prepped.

0

0

0

The War Pigs de facto squad leader, Victor Langley, took off his helmet to breathe the less enclosed air of the bridge.

Langley was actually just a Corporal, but he had seen his share of combat. All of the pigs did, he had actually gone against Protoss more often than Zergs, so when he saw the world bellow, his first reaction was fear, and his second was utter confusion.

If they were above Aiur, they were utterly fucked, but he knew for a fact that this was not, seeing as there were Zergs on its surface along with surviving Protoss tribe, none of which liked humans. Had it being the Protoss home world, the Revenant would have gotten its fat ass atomized as soon as it left warp space.

So the Corporal waited as the two pilots ran around the deck, trying to find any sign of where they had ended.

The bridge was semi-circular, with a large plasteel viewports to the front that allowed a 180 degree view of the space, and holograms running all across its surface, providing status reports on everything, from engine to cryo-prisons.

Langley walked to one of the displays and brought up the prisoner list.

**Retinal Scan… Unauthorized User, Please Contact System Administrator.**

He'd have to hack that thing, sometime soon; maybe there was some badasses they could thaw for additional firepower.

Something blinked yellow to his right and he pressed it, not really thinking much of it.

There was an explosion of light and suddenly the image of a Protoss was displayed in front of him, gigantic and ethereal against the plasteel window. The alien's ship was so dark the Terrans could only see a pair of green orbs and scales.

"Uh… Hi." He spoke, somewhat calm despite the situation. When they want to talk, then there's a way to get them to spare you.

"_En taro Tassadar, humans," _The alien greeted, his green eyes glowing brighter it the ambient darkness, _"I am Shaanis, Librarian of the new Templar order…"_

Karen stepped forward, "I am Lieutenant Karen Worst, Commander of the _Revenant_, state your intents, Librarian." She was always taught to be careful around aliens of quite frankly, this one creeped the fuck out of her.

"_This is embarrassing, Lieutenant Worst, but I do not wish to speak to you, is Sven Kudrenkov present."_

Had the _Revenant_ been armed, she would have kicked that 'toss in its mouth-less face so hard she'd actually knock some teeth out.

Instead, she… Wait…

"Librarian, I believe we have a problem…"

Beyond the Protoss' image were a fleet of ships so close to each others they looked like a single entity. However, the Ghost's ocular implants allowed her to make out the shapes of each individual ship.

They weren't Terran nor Protoss and that scared her somewhat.

"_Fear not, Karen Worst, we have cloaked your ship, these… Indigenes cannot detect us. Now, please, I must speak to Sven Kudrenkov."_

"Why?"

The eyebrows of the Protoss formed a straight line while its eyes took a puppy air.

"_I was sent to rescue him from the prison you left."_

The opposite part of the glass turned black with a pair of glowing red optics on a metal background.

"Shaanis," Sven greeted, his optics bobbing up and down in a nod, "I was afraid you might be remorseful after our last meeting."

"_It was nothing personal, although I am still disappointed in your attitude…" _The Librarian spoke, softly.

"Hey, you said you wanted to sell the thing, fifty-fifty… next thing I know, we're doing this for the greater good of the Protoss race and the galaxy. See, the galaxy and I do not like each others that much lately."

"_Your altruism is touching, however there is more pressing business to attend."_ If Protoss could look angry, this one was positively pissed, and so were pretty much everyone else at being excluded from the conversation.

"Such as?"

"_Nothing you can help at, I simply wanted to ensure you were indeed aboard this ship…" _Sven seemed about to say something, but his screen flickered out of existence and the Librarian turned to Karen once again. _"Miss Worst, you have my sincere apologies for this terrible incident…"_

The Ghost's mind immediately went into overdrive, "What incident?" But the Librarian was still speaking.

"… _we were honor bound to ensure Sven Kudrenkov was free, thus we followed your transport ship into the warp space despite common sense, yet unknowing that we would cause such catastrophe…"_

Gregor understood first. "You're a Dark Templar, your ships don't travel trough the Warp…"

The Protoss seemed surprise at the man's knowledge and nodded slowly.

"So…" Langley spoke, "What went wrong?"

"_The void drives of our ship interacted with the warp; our ships were thrown ahead in time, but remained in place space-wise, caught within the space time singularity our mistake created and unable to exit until it collapsed. A few hours have passed, to us, and millenniums, to the universe at large."_

Karen didn't blink, "How long exactly?"

"_Thirty-nine point five millenniums."_

"Says what?" Dave fell into the captains chair, "I forgot to shut the bathroom light at home," He wined, "It's gonna be a heck of a power bill!"

No one listened to him, all too caught in the implications of this, although it was Langley who voiced everyone's ultimate conclusion the best; "Sounds like we're not wanted by the dominion anymore."

Everyone on the bridge and outside it laughed, it was as if a huge weight was removed from their shoulders and the Protoss themselves felt some relief, as the unknown ships meant the universe had not ended in their absence. This, of course, was a cause of concern to most everyone in the tiny fleet, but the fact was quickly and calmly accepted. Heck, Warp drives were known to fuck up on their own even with skilled navigators and seeing Irena take a deep gulp to some old Cognac bottle, everyone was just glad to be alive.

"So," Vince's voice on the radio brought everyone back to the moment, "What's our angle? What we gonna do now?"

Karen turned to the Protoss, who frowned, _"This is your area of expertise, humans, my race has lost its skill for exploration long ago…" _The voice seemed old, all of a sudden, and Gregor was the only one who knew why.

He was strong, brave and smart, yet he was getting old, outdated.

"Very well, what assets do you have?" The Ghost did not seem very comfortable about giving orders to a Dark Templar.

"_A Star Relic class ship, two void rays and four Phoenixes, as for ground troops, I command three of my Dark brethrens and eight Zealots although the latter are not combat capable for the moment…"_

Worst nodded and frowned in surprise when her screens shimmered with data about their surroundings.

"_We have networked our ships with yours, you now see what we see."_

A few seconds earlier, the Revenant had been blind as a bat and oblivious as a newborn kitten, but now, they knew everything, from the composition of the unknown ships plating, a substance close to Neosteel, to the amount and looks of cities on the planet.

There were a great number of urban centers, but one in particular attracted the Ghost, somehow, she just felt it was the right place to begin, so she ordered Sven to go there and find out what he could. She wanted to send a Dark Templar as support, but knew Spectres were lone operators and wouldn't appreciate having an alien babysitter.

Instead, she asked the Librarian if he had the necessary material to retrofit the _Revenant_ with some better tech.

"We have plenty of Vespene gas and minerals…" She added at the Protoss' frown.

"_Of course, let's consider this gesture as a mark of goodwill on our part." _He hesitated. _"I am… Pleasantly surprised by your willingness to cooperate, yet am slightly skeptical of it…"_

The Ghost shrugged. A year earlier, she would have rammed her ship into the Alien ones and gone down for the glory of the dominion, now, she had been left to die by that same dominion and spent the last year of her life working herself half to death alongside peoples that the same dominion had branded as evil.

Karen owed her life to these altruistic souls. She had thus decided to keep an open mind about everything in the future, even aliens.

She told Shaanis just that.

"_The ability to see beyond the flesh is something few of us possess, you are wise, Terran." _The Protoss approved, _"I will send drones and a technician to your ship right away."_

The 'toss signed off and Karen told everyone to get ready for a combat drop, should the Spectre need backup.

0

0

0

It seems to be the rain season in the area the 'Lieutenant' wants me to scout. Good, rain helps cover the sound of footsteps, although it makes my cloaking generator less effective, as peoples will see a shape from the droplets landing on me.

My Dropship emerges from the clouds near another ship, a merchant shuttle, I thing, held together with duct tape and a lot of prayers.

I discuss with its IFF emitter for a few seconds and soon explain to it how it's all mixed up and that it's actually transmitting my ship's signal. The stupid machine bites, bait, hook and sinker. All I have to do next is transfer the signal to my own emitter and have them broadcast at the right frequency.

Technopathy allows me to hack onto non encrypted transmissions, when I know the right frequency, but there is so much chaotic techno-gibber in this city it felt like I had the whole Zerg Swarm throwing a party inside my skull last time I tried to listen to everything, so now I make sure I'm at least close to the signal I want to hijack. It's less tiring that way in any case.

The port authorities give me clearance to land while the other shuttle gets escorted to the nearest military base. Sucks to be him…

My ship lands on the dirty, moss covered pad with a faded 12 painted on it. Terran number, I guess this is a human world.

I don't intend to get out there and explain my gear to every passerby, so I cloak and exit trough a maintenance hatch, which I lock back behind me before giving the auto-pilot instructions to wait here ten minute, then head back to the _Rev._

Once that's done, I scan my surroundings, first visually, noting the tall yet decrepit skyscrapers to the right, the dense and dark jungle to the left, the big square pieces of concrete ahead and finally , the multitude of ships, varied in size and condition, that take off and land on the row of landing pads.

Then, I survey the place psyonically, touching the surface thoughts of at least a thousand human beings in a few seconds. To a Ghost, this would be a very unpleasant experien#ce, but my brain works differently, so that's just a bit gross.

Mostly, all I feel right now is despair and misery, the peoples here are poor and no one's coming to help them, so they slave away, chucking wood in a jungle that wants them dead and only earn the bare minimum in exchange.

One of them is close enough for me to pick up a prayer to a God-Emperor.

"_Our Father who waits upon the Golden Throne,_

_Hear our plea, _

_Grant us the strength to carry on,_

_Grant us the will to brave temptation,_

_Grant us the courage to do what is right,_

_With your grace, we shall never tire..._

_And please help Cody, he is young and has so much to see…"_

I push into that brain and analyze it carefully. Just a kid, yet so tired and old… She had to raise her son on her own from when she was sixteen and now he's growing blind from a plant burning his retinas as he worked in the jungle.

She's spent whatever she could to get him healed, resorting to threats and sexual favors, without success. And to think I've got the equipment on me to heal that kind stuff, easily, at that. A simple nanite injection, some bandaging and kid's good as new.

But I'm not going to… Am I? I mean, I'm the bad guy, right?

Aw heck…

The girl suddenly gets the weird and uncontrollable need to take a walk, convinced it will solve all of her problems.

She walks in her son's room and pass the clock, hung on the wall, not caring that it's way too late for such a walk and that the streets are unsafe for a lone woman.

She watches the kid's angelic face; he looks like his father. She's not sure it's a good thing.

Then she exits her house, her thick wool shirt quickly getting soaked head to toe, yet she's happy. Something good is going to happen to her…

She walks up a street for about five minutes, then hooks trough an alley filled with vagrants and other rejects. Most don't notice her, but those who do and so much consider harming her get a searing headache so intense they are forced to their knees by the pressure.

She then enters a dead end completely devoid of life and that's when I release her.

She's confused at first, feeling like the last seconds were nothing but a dream and is wondering what to do now.

I'd like to make it less dramatic, but I guess there is no other option outside drama, so I uncloak ten steps in front of her and immediately hear a dozen explanations rush trough her brain; demon, chaos, psyker and Eldar are the most credible, in her humble opinion.

Me, I think mercy is for the weak and am wondering just why the fuck I'm bothering with that bitch when I should be running recon, yet when you're a psychic, instinct is a good a tool as any, and usually more accurate than intel reports.

She turns to run, but I stop her with one sentence; "Leave and Cody shall never see again."

I swear to god, the vibes I'm getting from her confirm she's more that capable of ripping me a new asshole if I threaten her child.

"Who are you?" Her maternal instinct is strong, but it doesn't completely overwrite survival, so there is still fear in her voice.

"Call me Spectre. You were praying, just now…" I explain, taking a step forward. She makes no sign of trying to get away so I take out a nanite container and hold it at arms length.

"How do you know?" Interesting, telepaths are very rare here, or inexistent. I thought we would become the norm in the future…

"I know many things, Laurence," I taunt, still holding the canister, "this will heal your son…" I quickly read the bases of her faith in her mind and soon realize technology is not very appreciated here, neither is anything even remotely foreign looking.

"For I price, I suppose? I'll…"

"No price, no catch, it's yours and I will never ask anything of you in return."

"Why?"

"Quite honestly, I think I'm certifiably insane, beyond that, I don't know, I just felt like helping."

"And you expect me to inject this to my son?"

Yeah, when you put it like that…

I walk over to her and open my visor, so she can see my eyes. Not really the smartest move, seeing as Terrazine made all pigmentation fade from my iris a year ago, yet the gesture in itself makes her more comfortable.

"I am not from this place, Laurence, and I am trying to understand this new world. Simply speaking with you now has taught me more than hours of reading could have; see this as my way to repay you for your services."

Why did I say that? In a way, that's true; I learned more from actively discussing with her than I would have had I just been digging trough her brain randomly and since she has an interest in keeping this a secret as well, didn't blow my cover.

She takes the syringe gingerly and looks back at me. She's scared, I feel it now, pissed scared, but it's not natural, not a rational fear, as if my aura was just making her shit her pants.

Once she's taken the syringe, I step back, cloak and run up the right wall for two meters, approximately, before kicking myself off it, onto the opposite wall. A telekinetic pulse gives me enough momentum to run up this one as well and grab onto some rusty pipe that leads to the rain gutter, seventy meters higher. My visor lowers itself at that moment; a new function I programmed after my earlier misadventure…

I'm not in prime physical condition after these months spent malnourished and overworked, but I still manage to climb all the way up by levitating somewhat as well as focusing more energy trough my suit's muscles. The pipe is slippery and very rickety, not the ideal path, but the most direct one.

I reach the top exhausted and collapse on the hard roof just as the taste of copper that accompany a Terrazine shot fills my mouth.

God damn this shit is good!

I simply watch the cloudy sky for a while, droplets of water forming tiny ponds on my optics. I like rain, the concept behind it, the eternal cycle, it's fascinating, yet so banal at the same time…

Trough my goggles, I can see every detail in the cloud ceiling, every fluff of vapor and each bump. Most people never take time to observe it, but they actually melt as water drop, so it's almost like those gargantuan formations are crash-landing on the ground bellow…

In this case, they are crashing against huge spires and blocky structures, strew around the city haphazardly.

I'm about to remove the AGR-28 from my back to set up there and relax a little when the clouds are ripped by the biggest motherfucking ship I've ever seen.

The HUD goes ape shit, filling with thermal signatures and electromagnetic interferences as gunfire erupts from the ship all across its flanks. Either that ship has very big engines, or its ass is on fire; either way, it sure is loosing altitude fast…

Soon, tracer rounds rise all around the city to meet the newcomer, leaving pink trails on my thermal imagery.

Smaller ships pour out of the huge vessel and scatter all over the place; fighters and dropships.

From every single mind in my vicinity, I hear a single line of though: _"Chaos, Emperor save us!"_

I can't help but answer to those praying the hardest, "The God-Emperor is not available at the moment, please leave a message after the tone… Beep…"

The incredulity I get as a result is totally worth the waste of time.

Looking up, I notice one of the dropship is burning, and missing quite a big chunk… It's going down hard, but most importantly, it's going down hard in my direction…

I don't know who it is from, but a single word crawls into my brain: Valkyrie.

I could slow its fall enough to prevent its inocupents from dying, but the sheer violence and rage I feel from them dissuades me. I can appreciate anger and brutal effectiveness, but the only word that can describe those… Things, is animals.

The eagle-like ship screams over my head and comes to a crashing stop on a roof two buildings further. Half its passengers are killed in the crash.

The remaining four pour out, looking for something to kill. Their thoughts are so erratic I'm having trouble keeping up with them.

What I do find out is that they used to be Imperial Guardsmen, whatever that is, but turned to Chaos years ago along with their whole company, and now they're here to kill every living thing on the planet.

Chaos… I get a lot of information about it from the scared civilians as much as from the feral beasts that are now looking for a way off the roof. Most of it is just religious crap about hell and god.

I establish a communication channel with the _Revenant._ I need to know what our next move is.

"Kudrenkov!" Karen doesn't seem to agree with something I did, "Status report!"

"Ma'am," I greet sending over the video of the ship I recorded earlier, "Hostiles in the area. Recon complete, requesting permission to engage."

"We know, and denied, soldier, I'm sending a Nerazim shuttle to pick you up now; you're coming back to the _Revenant_." Logical, since I still have to make my report, but these things that landed in the city… I must do something or they'll butcher everyone…

"Command, if you want the locals on our side, I think letting them get butchered might not be a good base for friendly negotiations."

"Alright, Sven, you want to fight? Do it, but you're on your own; I need everyone else here in the ship in case we get attacked. Understood?"

"Ten four, command."

I switch my comlink off and turn to the crash survivors, now rappelling their way down the side of the building.

Let's save some ammo on this one… I wait for all of them to be on the rope to remind said rope how flammable it is. Psi powers are all about communication; the best you talk to things, the most powerful you are, and I am quite the smooth talker…

The drenched wet rope ignites from the inside and soon snaps like some old tired string at the exact point I was looking at, near the ledge.

All four corrupted guardsmen fall to their death and most wonder if they would have had a better death in the Imperial Guard.

I sense a large massing of troops, near the warehouses, so I guess that's where I'm going. There, I can feel a powerful presence, so old it puts any Protoss I ever met to shame, must be the commander…

Hope they make jumbo sized body bags, 'cause that guy sure doesn't feel like a midget.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I couldn't find info on the Spectre Psionic Lash, beyond the fact it can down a battle cruiser in one or two hits, so I made some up. **

**Kane: Sven wouldn't stand a chance in a head on combat with a guy like that, he's an assassin, not a warrior, he'll actively avoid direct confrontation when possible. And the planet is still Braxis, only forty thousands year in the future. **

**logan greenberg: I doubt this relationship will work for very long though ^^**

**Ifgry: Yes he did :3 and it won't be the last time :D**

* * *

><p>The two beastmen are bored right out of their mind, stuck patrolling an empty alley while all of their pals are out collecting skulls.<p>

The alley they are patrolling is almost a hundred meters long and so thin at most placed only one man can go in at a time. That's good, it means they will not be facing Astartes.

All in all, they are careless and sloppy. They still eagerly search the place for something to kill however, poking bayonets trough piles of blanket and keeping an eye on both ends of the alley.

They could search this place for decades and never find me; I'm over their head, feet pressed to a wall and back to the opposite.

I draw my silenced pistol, but patience is a virtue and I stand by, waiting for them to get closer. One's tiny and looks more like a farm animal that a soldier while the other reminds me of these Tauren Marines storied I heard. Perfect candidate.

In the meantime, I do some digging inside their heads… Not a lot going on in there. Khorne, the blood god, is the supreme boss, then comes Tirus, a renegade Chaos Space Marine, whatever that is, then there's Viderrick, the commander of the corrupted guards and that's pretty much it, anyone else that tries to order them around gets his skull added to the skull throne.

Their mind taste like shit, like putrefaction, corruption… It's repulsive.

One gets into range and I line the crosshair with his goat-like head.

Where exactly is the brain? Wait, I'm using HE/SP 6mm rounds; I could hit his shoulder and the head would still come off, so who cares?

A plate sized hole appear in the beastman's head, forcing all of its content out into a water pond on the floor.

The other one falls to his knees as I creep inside his head, rewiring its chemical impulses and synaptic receptors to make him obey only one god: Me. There is some resistance at first, but instead of creating some form of loyalty to me from the ground up, I choose to overwrite the concept of Khorne and put myself in its place.

Then, I uncloak and drop to the floor, splashing blood-stained water all over my boots.

The Minotaur kneels. "I be servin' the Spectre god." Heh, that was easy.

"Here's what you'll do…" I send him the mental instructions and he bows deeper. "Yes, master."

His horned head snaps up with fierce determination painted across it. He grips his lasgun tighter and scream a war cry that sounds close to "BLOOD FOR THE SPECTRE GOD!"

That's kinda funny, if you ask me.

I cloak back and use some levitation and telekinesis to slowly rise to the top of the building where I set up my new gear.

The stuff is just where I left it, under a tired looking blanket.

It's just stuff I looted from the wreckage; a long-las rifle, some grenades, rappelling gear, a lascarbine and some very unstable looking demo charges. Most of it I took just for fun and field testing, as my AGR-28 has a sniper mode while being the size of a carbine and packing just as much punch as these babies. To be fair, they probably are way more powerful than my AGR, seeing as they are laser based, despite the archaic feel they carry, yet my Gauss rifle is obviously the most advanced piece of equipment.

All in all, I have no idea what I'm up against and how my gear will fare. A bit like fighting Protoss, really.

My sniper nest is a hundred meters further, squeezed between an air conditioning unit and radio antenna. It's quite low; standing at twenty meters, and offers a poor shot at the target, but that's the whole point, seeing as an easy sniping position would be pretty obvious.

There is a staircase leading to that particular rooftop and although the building is unoccupied, I still take a minute to hide a fragmentation grenade or two in every flight of stair from ground level to the top and set up the demo charge just above the staircase. No need for detonator, I can just psyonically set them off.

Then, I unfold the long-las' bipod and let it rest on the edge of the building while shouldering the AGR. I'm two hundred meters away from the command group; barely more that a bunch of ships and makeshift shelters and a boiling maelstrom of brutal fury and anger. They set up in some kind of huge plaza with a statue of some guy in armor in the middle.

Well, the guy in armor is not there anymore, but I've seen enough memories of this place in the past few minutes to know it used to be.

The whole situation reminds me of that movie the showed us at the Ghost Academy, 'And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.' It became my squad's motto after Shadowblade, an explanation as to why we fought the dominion.

The minotaur reaches the camp at that moment and I peek down the scope of my AGR. This will be interesting…

The beastman has a rock in a hand and his lasgun in the other; he is carrying out my orders flawlessly.

"Tirus!" He bellows, just at the edge of camp, "Come ya! BLOOD FOR THE SPECTRE GOD!"

Everyone in the camp stands still for a few seconds, all eyes turned to the crazy fool.

"Ya scared, ya big tin boy?"

A low rumbling voice, sounding like an avalanche of granite echoing in an empty valley, answers from the darkness, "You will die for you insolence."

"Yah, I will and so'll ya!" Something the size of a Marauder 5-4 armor steps out of the darkness, chain axe in hand; it is wearing an helmet, just as I felt, with an angry scowl as a face and shoulder pads so big I they could probably serve as toilet seats… What's with everyone and shoulder pads! Is their some vital organ in there they forgot to teach me?

The beastman roars and fires his lasgun into the Chaos Marine's face, barely scratching the paint. The Marine charges and chop off the minotaur's arm like it was made of butter, yet the beef guy still lands quite a few hits with his rock before being swapped away by a backhand strike that shatters his spine. Doesn't matter, he fulfilled his task, so I cut the pain receptors in his brain and let the thing die in peace.

The Marine, his lens scratched and damaged by the furious assaults of the crazed beastman, removes his head gear and toss it aside.

His face is ghostly pale with horns protruding all over his bald scalp.

His lips and lower jaw are a mess of scar tissue and one eye glows a sickly yellow. How can anyone be so ugly with only one head?

"You got something on your face," I compensate a bit to the right, my visual implants warning me about a mildly strong wind midway to the target, and squeeze out a single supersonic Neosteel spike, aimed right between the Marine's eyes, "Got it."

Old Ghost joke.

His face caves in under the impact, apparently struggling to repulse the 8mm spike that slowly makes its way trough. In the end, such resistance cause more damage than good, as the round is not stopped, but slowed enough not to exit trough the back of the head; it just bounces around the guy's skull like a rubber ball before shattering the jaw.

The guy is still standing tough, cerebral liquid and gray matter dripping from the mangled mess that was his mouth a second ago.

The troops in the camp begin a frantic search, chaotic and disorganized, as predicted; they search every single building without so much as trying to determine which direction the shot came from. They were animals earlier and now that I killed their leader, they're _retarded _animals.

I look up at the Galaxy troop ship still struggling to get back into orbit. This thing is the next target, now that I took out the commander…

How the fuck am I supposed to go about doing that? I guess first I need a very big gun or bomb, although if there was such a thing around here, the Imperial forces would have used it already…

So… Psi lash? Last time I did that, the whole Dominion was on me in seconds and the Frigate I took down was nowhere near the size of that transport.

Then again, this ship is already falling apart, all it needs is a little motivation.

The concept of Psionic lash is quite simple, one must focus raw psi energy in or around a limb, keeping it close to the body while building up power until the moment it packs enough energy to power a whole battleship for a full minute, then you find a target and 'lash' out at it with your mind.

Unlike Psi blast or other psychic attacks I could summon on a pinch, this technique doesn't follow the laws of physics; it is capable of cutting trough _anything_, the only restriction is how long you can keep it up.

I'd like to think of some one liner to say, something badass, but right now, I'm so damn nervous all I can think about is 'Yippy Kay Yay, Motherfucker' and I sure as hell don't want my last sentence to be some Bruce Willis line.

Instead, I quote that Wraith pilot; "Gravity: Not just a good idea, it's the law." Yeah, I did better… Anyway, let's turn that cloaking generator off.

I focus intensely and, soon, my right arm crackles with energy as I feel gradually weaker and hungry. I'm still malnourished, so this isn't going to be as powerful as it could. Doesn't matter, it'll suffice.

My forearm is now ablaze in pulsing red light, burning around my hand and wrist like a bonfire. It tickles, like running your hand on a TV screen you just shut off. Impressive, to think all that power emanates from my brain… But that's what Terrazine is for, otherwise I would fry my synapses right there.

Once I feel I've given it all I could without passing out, I unleash a needle-large string of pure psi energy. It swirls around in the air like ribbons in the wind, graceful and eerily silent in the rainy night…

I focus my attention on the ship itself and the string pulses angrily before whipping the ship in a furious thunderclap that leaves tiny criss cross patterns of molten metal near the still smoking engines.

The ship doesn't seem to notice, at first, then something just… breaks and fall off; a large triangular chunk at the rear of the ship just falls off, crushing a whole apartment block in the process. The ship itself twists and screams under the sudden and unexplained structural modification. To the machine's credit, it stays airborn for a good half minute before finally realizing all the laws of physics it is breaking and giving up.

The Galaxy class transport tilts to the right slightly as explosions run all across its structure, slowly pushing it away from the city. The whole engine soon break away, crushing at least four blocks upon impact. Fortunately, the ship itself crashes into the jungle and, less fortunately, goes off in a fireball that ignites a good chunk of the city and an even bigger bit of jungle.

God… I did this. Not some Protoss High Templar or Thor walker. Me, a lone, tired, beat up Spectre, just officially raped a Dreadnought-sized ship with nothing but my brain and... Shit.

My Psionic 'radar' warns me that I now have a horde of berserk Khorne cultists bearing down on my position and should if it fits my agenda, get the fuck out.

I use basic telekinesis to fire the long-las into the horde while using my rappelling gear to set up a zip line heading for the now abandoned camp, two hundred meters further. There's nothing holding the line except my psi powers, but it'll do.

The hordes are now in the staircase. No matter I'm already gone and, once they reach the top, none of them gets to take a shot or even see the abandoned long-las, as I detonate every explosives I left behind as soon as the first enemy makes it on top. The effort causes a mild headache and some numbness in the extremities.

I crash to a stop and drop to a knee, my legs too wobbly to hold me up. I feel weak, but I still retrieve the laser sniper rifle with a short telekinetic burst that sends it spinning in the air.

A bit more sporadic telekinesis guides it all the way to my outstretched hand. Once it's there, I sling it on my back and push myself off my feet. Got damn my legs feel like cotton…

I should have brought some Stimpacks… Bah, whatever, I'm done here anyway.

"_Revenant_," I call, "Operation successful, can I get an EVAC here?"

There's only statics on the line for about twenty seconds; a very long time, if you ask me.

"Negative, Sven, local defense forces are crawling in your area, sending anything in there would be crazy."

I look up and, indeed, the sky is crawling with eagle-like ships. Looking for whatever it is that took down a transporter in a single strike. Projector beams are sweeping the whole area and I hear patrols coming in. Some of them seem to engage the cultists in some pretty heavy combat, judging from the sounds of battle in the alleys around the plaza.

I feel someone emerge from an alley directly behind me, filled with fear and apprehension.

Fuck, I didn't turn my cloaking field back on after the psionic lash.

I quickly scan the Planetary Defense Force trooper's mind. Not very sharp; he's an artist, not a soldier and killing just ain't in his nature. He won't shoot me and hasn't reported my presence yet.

"Hello, mister Arkovitz." I greet, slowly lifting my arms up.

"Put you hands in the air!"

"It's what I'm doing, Harold." Mocking him isn't a good idea, but he's no threat, really.

"G… Get down, on your knees!"

"Can't do that, pal." With that, I send a boost of energy to my suit and sprint backward. Psi sprint makes you feel as if you were running in low gravity. I hate it.

A solid psi amplified punch to his lasgun suffices in disarming the trooper while a quick leg sweep prevents him from attacking me while I run my ass out of this mess.

I am cloaked long before he's up and far away by the time he begins firing at every shadow.

When the squad leaders will ask him what happened, he will most probably answer that he met a Spectre… Because I implanted this thought in his brain, as free advertising.

You know; be feared by your enemies and your allies alike, stuff like that.

So I run. No clue where, no clue how long, I just fucking run until there are no more Imperial ships looking for me, then, when the only thing in the sky is the reflection of the raging fires on the rain and clouds, I run some more, dodging chaos and PDF alike.

The city has an octagonal layout, spread on a single level, unlike bigger hives, who have many. It is separated in many sections: first one occupies the center of the hive, it contains the habitation districts and trade sector as well as quite a few entertainment establishments, second is to the south and west, it's occupied by the landing pads, docs and warehouses. Third come the northern area, the PDF base and training ground. Finally, the east side… Doesn't matter because it's kind of on fire right now…

As for me, I just dragged my ass all the way from the warehouse district to the city center. I send a psi echo trough the street and wait for the mental map to get in place. I need a place to rest, this last feat drained me and if I try to track down chaos troops now, I'll wind up dead by morning. Fortunately, there are things that never change and I quickly find a very shady brothel that would probably be purified by fire should the authorities ever find out it exists.

Just the kind of places I like.

It takes me about a minute to get there and one more minute to actually find the door; it's in a dark alley, hidden between what appears to be public restrooms and a...Honestly, I have no clue what that's supposed to be, seems like a church or something, only in a cut down, cheaper version.

I enter the alley and knock on a steel door, hidden ten meters away from the street, under the restrooms. I uncloak a second latter. So tired I forgot I was invisible in the first place…

No answer.

I knock again and a loud voice booms as soon as my fist touches the door: "Password?"

The man's mind is weak, an Ogryn, apparently, and I immediately find the password.

"Discretion is the better part of valor." I totally agree with that.

The door opens and the huge man waves me in. He's approximately the same size as Gregor, although I'd bet on the Marine in a fight between these two. The Ogryn is dumb as a brick.

The place is dirty, dark and empty. There's a bar straight ahead with stairs right next to it, going down, and only two tables. Just as well, seeing as the room is barely bigger than the restrooms above.

The boss, a Ratling called Siveras, greets me from a nearby stool.

"Oi! Welcome to Silver Paradise, my friend!" He looks at my armor and gets two thoughts almost simultaneously.

"_He's rich." _And "_He can't be a normal customer." _That and a feeling of unease, as if he felt I wasn't supposed to be there.

"How much for a night?" No time for bullshit; I want to sleep.

"Well, now, I suppose ya know what kinda service we do here…"

Mutants. This place hires mutant prostitutes… That's just great, I'll have to spend a night in the same room as a horny female Ogryn…

"Yes, I am aware of you specialty."

He's getting suspicious, peoples who hear from his place do so from being referred by other customers, so in theory, I should already have an idea what I'm looking for. I just need to take a pick from the midget's brain. Peoples in this place are just so fucking easy to mess with, it's as if they've never seen a telepath!

"I heard you employed a renegade Navigator, is she available?"

His grin makes me want to shoot him right there. "Khalia!" His shrill, high pitched tone hurts my ears and doesn't help with my murderous intents, "Time ta work!"

The girl looks human, kinda cute; short red hairs, black eyes, lips a little too big for the size of her nose… but at least five years younger than I am and I'm really not that old… I think I'm around twenty three or twenty five, so that puts the Navigator in her late teens-early twenties. I don't care, I don't intend to do anything with her.

Maybe I should have lifted my visor before she arrived, because the fear I sense from her is so intense, it overshadows any I've ever felt before. Either she's brave as a mouse or that weird aura bullshit is at it again. In any case, I'm really beyond caring right now. But no, she's no coward; I've seen Marines panic from fear half that strong…

Still, Khalia almost begs the Ratling not to let me hire herm, refusing to follow me to her room, and I'm about to tell Siveras that I changed my mind when, on a signal from the owner, the Ogryn doorman punches the tiny mutant girl in the guts hard enough to make her see stars trough even her normal eyes. I try to access the part of her brain linked to the third one, but my instinct tells me whatever made that girl so brave, it came from that eye and I don't have the balls to handle it, so I retreat from her skull and shoot the men a piercing glare… Trough my optics… Might as well be trying to kill them with a laser designator.

First: Sleep, then I'll mind rape the midget and the giant so hard they'll think they're farm animals.

A slight tweak in the little guy's brain make him think I paid double and gave him express orders not to disturb me until I decide I'm done, which he's glad to agree to.

"Why, of course, sir, you may take as long as you want!" And he begins counting money only he can see.

The Navigator's the only one to realize what I did and that just increases her fear. She'd like to run, but all the guns I'm carrying dissuade her from doing it. Instead, she heads down the stairs, clutching her stomach in pain and dragging her feet all the way.

The Navigator's room is barely more than a circular chamber with a queen sized bed occupying half of it.

The girl is dressed in robes I can only guess are supposed to make her look like a Navigator from one of those Imperial ships. I can't tell since her family was banished long ago and she never served the Imperium. She never even set foot on a space ship.

She asks me something about undressing, but I'm busy unlocking my helmet and infuser, so I didn't really hear.

Feeling the stale air of this place on my sweat drenched hairs and face is a delight, but one I must cut short, seeing as the mutant on the bed is growing more scared with every passing seconds. Might as well make things clear now…

"Don't worry, Khalia, I want nothing from you, I just needed a safe place to rest."

With that, I toss my weapons on the floor, quickly following them as I use my hardened backpack as a pillow.

I got a feeling I didn't get here by coincidence, that mutant knows thinks I could use, but right now, I just want to sleep.

I send a data package to the _Rev_ using just technopathy -and a nearby metal tower- and quickly fall asleep.

0

0

0

_**Revenant**_

**Six hours latter**

**Braxis' Orbit**

"C'mon, baby, ya need to follow the move, don't try to go against the flow!" The Hammer Securities merc explained to Alan as the other man tried to move his gargantuan CMC-660.

They were standing in a makeshift gymnasium Dylan had whipped up out of an empty cargo hold and Alan was trying to learn how to become a Firebat. It was very hard moving in that huge fucking suit…

Kade took a stumbling step forward, then another, then crashed on the floor like a ragdoll.

"Gettin' there…" The Marauder laughed over the downed Firebat, "Ya should just relax, baby, let the suit do the work. Your own muscles don't factor it, tha suit's robotic, a' least ten times as strong as ya!"

"So if I try to push it instead of gently nudging it, I eat dirt?"

"That right."

Alan pushed the massive armor back up with his twin flamethrowers and gave it another try, just nudging the armor forward. It was still nowhere as fluid as Dylan's pervious dancing display, but it would get him through the incoming combat drop.

Nearby, the War Pigs were using piled crates and containers as simulated urban environment to train in, they had spent the last two hours doing it, preparing for the upcoming battle.

Alan opened a comlink with Langley, they defacto team leader, and asked him what the operation's status was. Langley asked Fauster, who asked Worst and the Ghost answered on the general frequency.

"We're waiting for the Probes to finish assembling the Void canon, then we'll contact the defending fleet. If they authorize us to launch an op in their city, we're going to hook up with their forces and lead standard support operations, if they refuse, we're still going in, but on our own and with Nerazims acting as scouts."

"What the fuck's a Nerazime?" Vince's voice asked. The Reaper had disappeared soon after Karen had announced that they were heading down to find Kudrenkov.

"Dark Templars." Hannah groaned from inside the infirmary, "Christ, Vincent, I thought Reapers were brilliant killers or something!"

"I was, but then they ressoced me five times, so I guess I ain't as sharp as I used to be…"

On the bridge, Karen and Irena were trying to find where the comm. console was located, with little success. There were monitoring systems, cryo release commands, newly installed Protoss weapons consoles, but the communications system were a complete mystery.

So Karen decided to inspect the section of plasteel the Corporal had touched earlier, looking for anything with the words ON and OFF.

There was a list of numbers that seemed like radio frequency with, at the top, a frequency marked with the word UNKNOWN ERROR. She pressed that one and Shaanis' face filled the screen view, replacing all the diagrams and frequencies.

"_You addressed me, Lieutenant?" _

Well, that was not the intended result, but it would do. "Yes, Librarian, could you put me into contact with the Defender's flagship?"

"_It shall be done." _And he blinked away.

"Shady bastard." Irena commented. Worst secretly agreed, but then again, she was a shady bitch herself.

Soon enough, her screen filled with statics, quickly replaced by a severe looking man clad in some kind of blue military uniform.

"I am Rear-Admiral Reich," He announced, speaking as if she should somehow know the guy, "Identify yourself immediately!"

Karen hated that guy already. "Lieutenant Karen Worst, sir…" She was about to say 'from the Terran Dominion, but this would have been… Inaccurate: "Independent mercenary."

Maybe she should have chosen something else, seeing as the man's face immediately took a furious red shade.

"How dare you show yourself here! You scum, show yourself so I may smite you from the sky!"

What? If that was the best that pompous asshole could muster, she would give him a run for his money.

"Listen to me you fat fucker, I don't give a rat's shit about you, I only called to figure out whether I should just blow those two remaining junkyards you try to command and obviously fail, seeing as my man had to eliminate the enemy commander _and_ their support ship all by himself…"

The man's face fell at her use of singular. A singe man? Impossible!

"That's right," Karen laughed with a ferocious grin, "Just one of my boy did what your whole fleet couldn't, of course, don't take my word for it, why should you? Ask the PDF and local about Spectre; that's my boy."

The man straightened himself and quickly analyzed the situation. There was an Ultramarine strike cruiser inbound; it would be with them any day now. Whoever these mercenaries were, the Astartes could deal with them easily, so in the meanwhile, he could enlist them to wipe out Chaos forces and assist the Planetary Defense Forces… If the Governor agreed, that is.

"Very well, miss Worst, let's hear you out…"

Karen regretted not being able to probe the man's mind to find out the reason behind that sudden change in heart. How non-telepaths got by was beyond her.

"We need Vespene gas and minerals… Here I sent you the chemical composition of both resources…"

The Admiral asked someone off screen to check it out and they answered these had absolutely no value and could not be used for anything outside cheap jewelry and fireworks. They were simple oddities, really.

Karen understood from this exchange that the Imperium did not have the knowledge of how to extract Neosteel from the crystal formations, nor of how to turn Vespene into fuel. How could any civilization make due without these two resources was beyond the Ghost's understanding.

"You will get what you requests, now, how many men can you spare?" Reich would be disappointed by the answer…

"Nine, it's a Special Forces group, however."

The Admiral asked for more information on these men and Worst obliged. She had nothing to hide, really, if these guys knew their history, they'd know about every kind of unit she had already.

"Marine Sergeant Fauster will lead the unit, Reaper Corporal Kerensky will serve as scout, War Pigs Corporal Langley is our Elite infantry team leader, with Private Darka as our medical officer, Firebat Corporal Kade and Marauder Sergeant Rainer will serve as heavy infantry, Privates Smiles and Cole as Riflemen and, finally, we have a Spectre Black Ops Specialist on the ground."

"Dave." Irena pointed out and the Ghost facepalmed. She needed some rest…

"That's right, we have a Viking versatility weapon platform as air and armor support."

Didn't take a telepath to know the Admiral was totally lost. The man was chewing on his bottom lip trying hard to understand what the woman had just said. When an admiral did something like that, it was never a good sign; privates chew their lips like that, sergeants, not so often. Admirals… Well, when your Admiral is tense, run for the nearest life pod…

"Fine, you may deploy immediately, I will clear it with the governor. I hope your men are as good as you say…"

So did she.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, let's get this clear, the Warp was not like it currently is back in 2504, Chaos didn't exist back then, so neither did Psykers... I'll explain it in this chapter ^^' The Protoss aren't Psykers either, more like Orks, drawing power from the Waaagh! Dark Templars, however, draw power from the void, which has no equivalent is WH40K...**

**Anon: They will get it rough, trust me, but not until I'm done making readers care about them :3 I like killing off characters at the peak of their glory, otherwise, it feels like redshirt death...**

**Kane: I enjoy such constructive reviews, but too many question, mate ^^Keep reading and you'll find out. But no, the third eye is because she's a Navigator. As for the Zergs... They will make an appearence latter on :D**

**Master of the Blood Wolves: hehe, thanks :D**

**Baka Ecchi Kon: Thanks man, I'm glad you think so!**

**Thatnk's for the reviews, everyone, it means a lot! **

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><p>Vince was a dumbass, a bastard and a very lousy human being at large, yet that was alright by most people he worked with, because he was also a Reaper and one of the best in the whole Dominion.<p>

Even Greg knew giving actual orders to the guy would limit his combat effectiveness, so when the Dark Templar on recon told them their LZ was way too hot, the Sergeant only had to utter a single sentence.

"Take care of it."

And Vincent gladly obeyed; the Reaper opened the shuttle's rear hatch and jumped out yelling something around the lines of "Geronimo!"

Out the open ramp, he could see Dave's Viking heading for the ground a lot faster than it should have, smoke rising from its frame. There were three hostile stuck on his six and trying to finish him off, but the Viking disappeared amongst the buildings and the ships pulled up.

It was only a matter of time before they found the shuttle.

Bellow, Vince was raining supersonic 8mm spikes on a group of soldiers who answered right back with their lasguns. A few shot grazed and the Reaper fired his jetpacks to remain mobile and avoid the onslaught.

The Chaos forces on the ground were set up in a sloppy formation around a captured Leman Russ and the buildings on their right and left extended high behind the Reaper, meaning he could only swing back and forth.

Once he was about thirty meters from the ground, Vince fired the jets at full burn and slowed down enough that two cultists actually managed to take a shot at him. This caused second degree burns on his chest because of the radiated heat, but no structural damage to the armor itself… A Stimpack made the pain go away and got him ready for some ass whooping.

The Reaper finally touched down and immediately used a combination of Deuterium 8 and Scythe pistol fire to force his enemies to cover while he, himself ducked behind an abandoned civilian vehicle. His Reaper armor may not provide the level of protection CMC suits did, it had its perks, like being able to actually take cover.

The tank's main gun lined up with the car Vince was hiding behind and the Reaper had to jump out of cover. He fired his jets just in time to evade the Heavy bolter fire, but not fast enough to escape the blast from the tank's main gun.

He watched with amusement as his left forearm detached from his body in slow motion. Seems like he was going to need some more stimpacks…

Not really knowing how, Vincent found himself straddling the tanks' main gun. He didn't need to know how, in his job, thinking got you killed; instead, he lifted his remaining Scythe and shot the gunner in the head before priming two D-8 charges. He walked over to the opened hatch and shoved both explosives in. His jump juts screamed in a tone that clearly indicated they were badly damaged and Vince jettisoned them while still five meters above ground.

The impact was hard, but nothing compared to the Russ' explosion.

Vince somehow found himself embedded in the reception desk of some building and swiftly kicked himself up.

Out the hole his armored body had left in the front door, the Reaper could see Cultists approaching, so he hid behind the smashed wooden desk and scanned the killbox; Four pillars were the only covers available ahead and some sort of elevator was his only possible fall back route.

"Last stand," He scoffed, "I love last stands."

He reloaded his weapon and tossed a pair of remote-controlled D-8 charges near the door.

The First cultist to get in dies with a spike the size of his finger shattering his skull while the nine others were blown to pieces before Kerensky could do anything. Premature detonation?

Dylan's voice on the comlink was all the explanation he needed: "Kaboom, Baby!"

The shuttle swung in low, dropping the Terrans trough some sort of antigravitational field before recloaking.

The team leanded in some kind of shallow crater and both riflemen separated on the ground, one securing the north-west flank and the other taking the south-western one. Alan went with Cole to the north while Dylan went south, giving weight to the two Marines' arguments…

Gregor, Hannah and Victor, on the other hand, hurried to Vince's side as soon as the Reaper made it out of the half-destroyed building.

Hannah didn't say a word and used her Tissue Regenerator to cicatrize the stump now replacing his left arm.

"Hope it ain't your wanking arm." Was Victor's only reaction to the Reaper's predicament.

"What's your status, Reaper?" Greg then asked, more as a way to say 'If you want out, no one's gonna blame you'

"Looking for payback, sir." With that, Vince drew his Scythe pistol and moved all his D-8 charges to the left side, this way he could holster quickly and hurl bombs without too much trouble.

"This man has issues." Hannah commented after the Reaper had walked away.

"I like him." Langley retorted, smiling under his helmet.

Greg attempted to open a comm. channel with Dave, but got only static in return. Seems they would have to do this without air support… What had The LT been thinking? Sending only a single air support craft?

"Alright, people," Greg announced on the squad comm. "there's something called a Baneblade half a klick west of here and the locals want us to secure it until they can get a crew ready. Keep it tight and shoot anything that moves; the locals are quite trigger happy and the best counter is to be even crankier than they are!"

With these words of wisdom, the bunch of escaped convicts got moving, Marauder and Firebat on point and War Pigs bringing the rear.

0

0

0

When I wake up, the mutant is deeply asleep on her bed and I must admit I envy her a little; mu whole body hurts from the night spent straight on the hard floor.

I slip my helmet back on and inhale a shot of Jorium and Terrazine before the shakes begin. This shit wakes up like two cups of coffee and a slap in the face.

Next, I grab an MRE and toss it to the sleeping mutant, hitting her square on the side of her head she wakes up with a start and I tell her to eat, as we'll have to discuss later.

Someone like Vince or one of the War Pigs would probably have taken advantage of the situation with that pretty girl in the same room as them and all that, but me… Well, I can't say I'm a noble soul or shit like that, truth is, Terrazine and Jorium fried my sex drive, so although I can appreciate the beauty of her features, I am just as sexually attracted to that girl as I would be to a flower or pretty bird.

Tell me, if you had an exotic flower or fancy parrot in your bedroom, would you even want to fuck them? Exactly.

Most people focus their whole life on reproduction and that's all right, it's the way the world has been for centu… well, Millenniums, now. But I guess one could see me as the human incarnation of the Zergs; survival is one of my goals, but ultimately, power is the final objective.

Now, I'm no evil overlord, not by a long shot, I dare say, but fact is, life is all about will to power, peoples just don't admit it. Why work? To get money. Why get money? To become more powerful. Money is power, but in my case, it's all about psi. I've seen what the Protoss can do and although it seems real fancy, I know I have the potential to do much more. What for? Well, quite simply; fun. What else is there? I could take life seriously and go fight for some noble cause and die a martyre, or have fun for the hundred and twenty years I have left to live.

What would it change? The end result is the same; I'm dead. Not proud, not disappointed, not even happy, just dead.

So, in the meantime, I'll get out there, get in trouble, cause trouble, have a blast and see shit most peoples wouldn't believe. Maybe make a few friends in the process, who knows.

Speaking of which…

"Name's Sven, by the way." I call out. I don't feel fear from her anymore. Whatever it was that caused such unease, she got used to it overnight. She's now sitting on the edge of her bed

"You're a Psyker." She states and I search her mind for the definition of Psyker.

Basically, it's a Psychic human like me, somewhat, but aren't as… Complete as I am. If I'm a knife, psykers are shotguns. I produce my abilities trough training and imagination, power them from my brain itself and use my body to point them in the right direction. I do everything myself whereas Psykers rely on something close to the Khala, drawing power from it and only capable of using rigid, albeit powerful, psionic abilities. All in all, they have more juice than me, since they have an external power source, but I got a lot more tricks up my sleeve and won't be having a demon take over my body. Oh, and I didn't fry half my brain to obtain my powers… More like a third or so…

"No, I'm something else."

She seems doubtful and, once again, I'm about to go diving trough her head for info…

"Stop doing that!" The outburst takes me by surprise and I blush despite myself.

"Y-y…You can feel it?" I stutter, completely lost. She's no Telepath, that's for sure.

I'd search her brain to find more, but she asked me to stop.

"Yes! It's like a large shadow is always hovering around you, complete darkness, and every time you do… Whatever it is you do, that darkness extends from your body and it crawls in my head, it's so cold and dark…"

She actually hugs her knees at that sentence.

"Tell me more about that shadow…" I ask, hiding the shame I'm now feeling as best I can.

"It's like the warp parted around you, leaving you in complete darkness… You look normal with my regular eyes, but…"

"The Warp… What's wrong with it?" Everything I felt, the association of the sub-space to hell, the demons that reside in it, it's not the same thing as we used to travel trough, it can't be!

Without entering her brain, I can still pick up her surface thoughts and that last one was very offencing.

"No, I didn't live under a rock, I lived in a Warp/Void space time singularity, you got a problem with that?"

Her look is priceless and the _"Throne I hope he is joking…" _I pick up is just as much.

"Well, In the year 2510, three entities were created within the Warp, three gods of Chaos, Nurgle, Khorne and…" Whatever she says next sounds more like someone sneezing than a name… Anyway, What she just said could coincide with the Protoss prophecy about the return of the Xel-Naga… Maybe those gods are actually the same gods that made the Protoss and Zergs… I learned a _huge _amount of things from having a few drinks with Jim Raynor.

"Uhm…" She observes my laser weaponry, uneasily, "Although you can't be affected by the Warp, these weapons are corrupted by chaos and could corrupt peoples around you."

They suck anyway. I toss both to a corner of the room and heft my AGR-28.

"Is this one good?"

She squints at it, apparently uncertain. "It is not corrupted, but the shadow surrounds it as well…"

Probably because it is powered by my suit… Anyway, it's time for me to move, I got some hunting to do, but first, I need to get that Navigator on the _Revenant._

"Khalia, I got a way off this planet for you, although you'll most likely get into all kind of trouble with the Imperium."

She scoffs, "Think it can get worst than my current situation?"

"You're alive aren't you?"

So I call for a Shuttle to be sent and this time I get it, no questions asked.

"What's the situation, by the way?" I ask Ghosty, while I'm at it.

"We contacted the locals and agreed to a trade of resources in exchange for our military support… Your performance helped quite a bit and I have received eight requests from Imperial High ranking officers to be granted a meeting with you as well as… Irena?"

I hear Irena speak in the background, then Karen returns on the line, "Twelve job offers from guys calling themselves 'Rogue Traders'. I guess you just became the ace up our sleeve… " Her tone becomes serious suddenly, "I have to ask, how do you actually handle against the peoples in this place? Think you can pull off some high risk missions?"

I make a quick review of my previous encounters and come to the conclusion that I am either outgunned, outmuscled, outnumbered or just outpowered. Or all of the above. This is the kind if fights I was trained for and I kept encountering back in the days, so the answer is obvious.

"Combat effectiveness remains nominal."

For some reason, hearing myself say that gives me goose bumps.

"Good to hear. I have a job for you on the request of some guy who calls himself 'Inquisitor'…"

I turn to the mutant and ask her to tell me about Inquisitors. Basically, they're like the inquisition on earth, back in the witch hunting days.

"What's he want?"

"The governor is an incompetent and an imbecile, but the Inquisitor doesn't have enough Guardsmen left to break into the palace, so he wants you to infiltrate the place and bring the governor's head to the nearest Imperial Guard camp."

"Charming."

"Isn't it?"

I sign off and leave the room. Up the stairs, I find the Ratling and Ogryn and quickly reorganize their neural pathways, using those of a goat and a horse as templates.

The Ogryn then turn to me with wide panicked eyes: "Neahhh!"

He rams trough the door and quickly leave the place while Siveras just stands there, looking at me with wide eyes. His crooked nose and prominent forehead look nothing like a horse's face, honestly.

"What did you do to them?" The Navigator gasps behind me, sounding more mad than surprised.

"Oh, don't worry, a few decades of psychiatric internment and they'll be their original selves again." I answer playfully. She doesn't think it's funny.

"You can't go around playing with peoples' brains like that!" She scolds, "Did nobody ever tell you that with great power come great responsibility?"

What the fuck is this? Do I look like the good guy in this story?

"Yeah, but it always ended with them changing their minds after I liquefied half their brains." I look at the mutant, "So, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Nothing important." Interestingly, she doesn't look afraid, just amused… I need to stop with the random acts of nicety, I'm getting soft.

"Look, there's a ship coming to pick you up, I got peoples to kill…"

"I'll wait here." She confirms with a nod, before shoving the Horse/Ratling off his stool to grab herself a drink.

Siveras whines in pain and flees trough the shattered door and I soon follow.


	6. Chapter 6

**At first, I intended this to be a Rogue Trader styled fic with a tiny crew and even tinier fleet, with Sven controlling only a few hero-level Zergs, but now, I just realized the Terran industrial might is their biggest asset against the Imperium, seeing as they can turn some moppet into an Astarte cheap knockoff in 24hours... How could I say that?**

**_Make no mistake, dear readers, war is coming, with all its glory, and all its horror, forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage..._**

**Kane: The prison was mostly like a Gulag, temporary installation in the ice of Braxis, it was destroyed during the planet's global warming.**

**As for Lexicanum, I did read a good part of it, but still feel like there's stuff they didn't elaborate on enough, so be ready to see a lot of personal interpretations in the near (Far?) future...**

**hopefully, this chapter will answer all your questions :D **

**Master of the Blood Wolves: Thanks hope you'll like the direction I gave it :D**

**Sovietkid: I try to, but 5000 words chapter daily with perfect spelling are a lot to ask of me :S**

**Once again, thanks, for reviewing everyone, your feedbacks really helped :D**

* * *

><p><em>If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.<em>  
><em><strong>- Sun Tzu<strong>_

Getting to the palace in itself poses absolutely no problem to me, I just need to avoid peoples with heat detection devices or beastmen with an acute sense of smell, my psionic powers allowing me to pinpoint those detectors long before I enter their detection zone… Of course, this is no video game and that means I must either go underground and into the sewers when the enemy has a heat seeking device or take a wide berth to stay under the wind when it's a smelling bastard… The second situation is not exactly aided by the first one, but I think even if they did smell me, they would think some sewer leaked in the street or something.

So the trip is uneventful in itself, yet takes four hours and I'm not even to the palace gates, right in the middle of the city, but instead two kilometers north and five hundred meters above, lying on my stomach and observing the perimeter defenses with my optic implants set at max magnification.

Quite a challenge: Thermal and motion sensing laser turrets, five hundred elite guards with implants on par with my own and most likely capable of piercing my cloaking field, a hundred semi-robots called Servitors. They don't really think, but technopathy should allow me to manipulate their minds as well.

Then, the palace itself has ceramite doors reinforced wit Adamantium, the name we used to call Neosteel, even tough some technopath digging in the local archives reveals they get the thing exclusively out of asteroids and not form chemically altering OR3 crystal formations, this makes Adamantium about thirty percent tougher than Neosteel, but a lot harder to find, as OR3 can still be found on seventy percent of the words known to the Imperium and while they realize the benefit such plentiful resource could bring them, they lack the chemical knowledge to find an actual use to it.

That's fascinating, but I don't have time to waste with history.

The plan is to attract something or someone with a dropship to my position, kill everyone, steal the ship and disguise it as a supply transport for the palace, which, from what I understood, is due to arrive at any moment.

I'd like to plan it all trough and double check my calculations, but I'd rather get this done with soon so I can go eat something, I'm starving.

Normally, I would use a smoke grenade to attract the attention, but I'm not packing any, so instead I use my Psi powers to lift up a large column of dust and make it crackle with Psychic energy. The thing looks like a small twister filled with red lightnings… It requires barely more power than a mind blast, yet, if I give it enough spin and use tougher particles, could easily be used as an anti-infantry power, acting on the base of sand paper and vaccum cleaners…

I'll give it a try right away, I suppose; there's an Imperial Guard Valkyrie dropship coming for the east, where the fires still rage.

First, however, I send a shockwave into the tall building's structure, shattering the windows, then attract some of the finer shards all the way to the roof and into the twister.

It is now glowing a bright red and spinning lazily. At this velocity, it would be no threat to anyone, but that's the point right now, I want the soldiers to leave their ship to inspect the phenomenon.

The dropship hovers around the roof for about a minute before finally deploying its landing gears. Never touches down though; a Chaos-controlled dropship rises from the southern edge of the building, having most likely approached the area at low altitude then ascended close to the building to avoid detection.

The Guard pilot tries to evade, but is too late and his ship is hit by two Lascannon shots right in the cockpit.

The fist Valkyrie just fall like a dead leaf, chipping one of its wings on the edge of the building in its descent.

The newcomer drops only four soldiers, three carrying hotshot lasguns and one packing a chainsword and hotshot laspistol.

The dropship speeds away while the four corrupted shock troops spread on the roof. One of them has a mechanical eye, so in adition to my cloak, I need to physically hide behind an air conditioning unit. I altered the thing to emit the same amount of heat as me for just that purpose.

Next step; kill every single motherfucker. The Psi twister picks up speed, suddenly emitting a sound close to a circular saw, and I feel a very light mental strain at the expense of energy, yet far too little to be crippling or even bothering.

Nature does things to near perfection and the twister effect is a perfect weapon; it sucks the air up its tube so violently and brutally two of the corrupted guards get sucked it and added to the mass. By that point, it's like spinning on a swivel; all I need to do is giving it occasional shoves to keep the thing going.

The suction or levitation are just side effects of the wind displacement. In fact, the only thing keeping me from being thorn to shreds by my own creation is the air conditioning unit between us.

The twister soon 'digests' its first victims –essentially using its abrasive properties to break him down to the cellular level-, turning a darker shade of red as it adds the flesh, bones and armor of the Cultist to the screaming maelstrom.

I nudge it to the left, where the remaining two are hiding, and I feel both of them die, yet the Psionic signature of the pistol wielding man remains.

I cannot end the twister in itself, but I do stop powering it, which causes a slow deceleration and, soon enough, the roof is covered by a pool of liquefied biological matter turned slightly muddy by all the dust, glass and bone fragments, without forgetting the flak armors and lasguns.

"Now this!" I laugh, more for myself than anyone else, "Is purification! Dust to dust, indeed."

On the ground, floating atop the pool of bloody goo, is the hotshot laspistol… That's where the psi signature is coming from, as if that pistol had wielded the Cultist and not the other way around…

I pick it up and it blurs all over, loosing it WWII era to become more sleek, refined; the canon, slide and reticule's shape reminds me of an overly long P99 pistol of the twenty first century, while the grip is closer to the Glock series. The slide, which doesn't actually act as one, extends over my hand and all the way to my wrist.

A nice gun that looks more like a mix of Terran and Protoss tech, instead of that high-tech low grade Imperial stuff.

I slip it in my belt, as a trophy of sort. I know about daemon weapons and I'm pretty sure it is one, but Ka… fuck, what was her name again? Kaila? Khalia? Whatever, the mutant whore, she said I was immune to warp influence, so better I'm the one carrying such an item than I leave it there to be picked up by some kid or whatever…

Nah, actually, I just want the trophy.

Now, to get off this roof… Of the few available options, taking the express elevator is my favorite.

I could jump off and levitate for the ten minutes it would take me to go down, but a single second of distraction and I fall to my death. No, elevator is much more practical.

I overload my suit's muscle with psi energy, focusing on the arms and back, and observe as a red vines-like pulsing light grows on my forearm, disappearing under my gauntlets.

One such overpowered punch cracks the floor, but not much, so I punch again and again…

I could use a psi blast to carve a way down, but overloading my muscles is much more power efficient as my actual muscles do half the job.

Once I've dug my way down, I punch the elevator doors open and spread the energy more equally across my body, causing the vine-like lights to vanish.

This elevator works out of magnetic repulsion, not ropes, and since the power has been cut in this building for one reason or the other, it is not gonna move from the first basement.

I'd like to say I'm confident about what I'm about to do, but truth is, I think this is a terrible idea.

Still, time to jump.

The jump across to the right side of the elevator shaft earns me one of the most intense adrenaline rush I ever felt and the following descent -slowed by my hands and feet pressed against two parallel rails in the wall, as well as levitation- is pretty high on the list of my 'Oh shit that's was DUMB!' moments.

I made sure to grab the left rail with my right hand, so I don't end up with my face in the wall, but I think I also strained a muscle in the process.

Mistakes don't kill people, panic and failure to adapt does. In that case, all I have to do is stay calm and hang on. Basically; no going back now.

The Neosteel covering my fingers presses the metal so hard sparks soon fly from it, bouncing off my mask harmlessly.

The side of my feet is rubbing on the rails as well, causing just as much sparks to pepper the Neosteel plates covering my legs, burning the paint away.

Well, at least it's working; all I have to do to stop the vertiginous descent is squeeze harder.

I need to pressurize my suit however, to stop the growing pressure from popping my eardrums. That's one thing I didn't plan for.

I descend for almost three minutes like that and everything goes according to pla… Fuck.

I didn't foresee that the rails could actually end and be replaced by another set to the opposite end of the shaft, three meters away. I'm going too fast to stop in time and if I keep on going, I'll hit some sort of safety break so hard I'll spit feet bones for the rest of my life…

So I push myself off and freefall almost thirty meters before reaching the other side. My right hand left rail technique doesn't quite work out at terminal speed and I find myself holding the piece of metal with a single hand, the deceleration so brutal I can't even move my other arm.

The only thing that keeps this one hand from ripping off is the fact my subcounscious had somehow foreseen this problem and is now diverting all power to the muscles of my spine and right arm.

That's CMC armor-level strength and it still isn't stopping me!

Numbers on my visor scroll at a vertiginous speed; a countdown leading to the unavoidable impact with the elevator.

I build up a smaller version of a psi lash in my left hand and wait, now leaving a trail of residual psi energy in addition to the shower of sparks.

One hundred meters, one hundred and twenty-five kilometers per hour. My gauntlet and fingers are glowing hot now, but the hostile environment suit underneath is protecting me from harm, although I can still feet the fabric heat up.

Fifty meters, one hundred kilometers per hour. I rear my hand at the sight of the elevator bellow.

Ten meters, ninety-nine kilometers per hour. U unleash the energy buildup, but don't shap it in a lash, just letting the shockwave tear everything bellow to shit. Walls, doors, elevator, everything seems to have been his by a Dragoon plasma canon.

A split-second later, my whole world is the angry red glow from the molten and burning metal as well as residual psi energy. The elevator is now falling freely, albeit slower than me. Convenient, as I seem to have destroyed the rail, my hand now holding nothing more that a piece of twisted metal.

I crash into the falling and burning cabin so hard, my suit warns me of internal organs bruising as well as brain damage. Brain damage, however, is quickly fixed by Terrazine, so I don't much care.

Thirty two kilometers per hour and rising. I calculate the frequency at which the sub-basement doors speed by, wait, the telekinetically as well as physically push myself up while sending a psi blast right from my forehead.

The numbers stop scrolling, the pressure in my guts almost makes me shit in my pants and I can feel the heavy strain on my spine despite the synth muscles working overtime to keep it from harm. Not only that, but I have a segmented Neosteel structure built in the back of my suit for that same purpose.

In any event, my sight soon returns and I can take a look at where I landed.

Level -6. Not so bad. I'll take the stairs.

I try to stand, but my legs won't respond. Either I busted something I shouldn't have or the adrenaline rush has already worn off and I now get the physiological effects. Both are likely, seeing as I metabolize drugs twice as fast as a normal human.

So, lying on my back and shaking like a leaf, I ride off the rush and wait. No sense moving now, it'll only attract attention and I can't fight in that state.

It's not the scheduled time, but I still inhale a shot of blood scented gas, calming my nerves and helping me focus. After that, I can actually sit up and check the damage; the paint was completely burned away on my right gauntlet and the inner side of my legs with some 'splash' effect all over the armor caused by the sparks, as if I had walked in a pond of fire and it sprayed a bit over my clothes.

Getting up is a bit trickier, but I manage it. Next thing to do; engage my cloaking field.

Once I'm invisible to about eighty percent of the population, I get my AGR ready and carefully step across the large room I landed it. A hangar, from the looks of it, filled with wooden planks, beams and such, nothing useful unless I want to set the building on fire… I don't want to do that, do I?

A quick scan confirms all there is on a seven hundred meters radius around this building are Chaos cultist and me… And the pistol, who seems just as shaken as I am from our earlier fall.

I tell the wood around me how hot it is around here and fire spreads like a wind in a field, soon filling the whole room. The heat is already getting hard to bear by the time I reach the stairs and that's just two steps away.

By the time I reach ground level, emerging to the right of a smashed reception desk, the fire has already spread across eight levels and is slowly burning trough the floor ahead.

I leave the building just in time to avoid getting roasted along with everything else, but on my way out, I notice a warning sign on the floor I did not see when I came in.

_By decree of the governor, this structure is hereby requisitioned for storage of Planetary Defense Forces supply, trespassers will be shot on sight._

That doesn't sound good… I hurry to my cloaked Vulture hoverbike –Karen figured I'd need some additional mobility- and hit the gas without further hesitation, going from zero to two hundred kph in a second.

0

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0

Irena's victorious squeal caused both Worst and Khalia to jump in surprise from where they stood, near the slowly forming galaxy map.

"What's up?" Karen asked, getting tired of the eccentric pilot's weird behavior.

"I just cracked the encryption algorithms; we have full access to the ship's system and its control adjutant." The pride in the pilot's voice was palpable, yet the only reaction she received were stares. That made her go back to her console mumbling.

Suddenly, from the wall at the back of the bridge, right next to the wall, emerged a green-colored robotic woman, fused to something close to a chair and with cables sticking from across her metallic body.

"Adeptus Mechanicus on this ship?" Khalia marveled before realizing her mistake. This thing was not alive, it was not even made of living tissues, an Abominable Intelligence.

The Navigator remained calm. She had expected such shocks and the ease with which Karen approached the thing helped as well.

Still, if a Magos ever got on this ship, he would blow a fuse… Literally.

"Adjutant, do you have access to the ship's newest addons?" Was Worst's first question.

"Unknown origin offensive and defensive devices detected. Control codes… Confirmed. Control established. Warning, Warp drive anomalies detected." The thing sounded dumb, almost like a servitor.

"The Warp engine was replaced by a newest model," Karen explained, "Can you tell me the ship's cryo manifest?"

The machine looked around the room for a few seconds, not really seeing it.

"Manifest, complete. Do you require individual information?"

The machine's blue eyes were unsettling, wide open, never blinking and looking at everyone with insistence.

"No, just give me a breakdown by occupation…"

"Affirmative. Marine Corps recruits; two hundred.

Doctors, Ph.D; six.

Doctors, Ed.D; twelve.

Technicians, Mechanic; nine.

Technicians, Medical; thirty.

Drivers, Space Construction Vehicle; forty.

Xenomorphs, Test subject; two.

Do you require further information?"

Xenomorph test subjects? Worst didn't like the sound of it, Khalia was just waiting for someone to explain to her just why the Lieutenant was speaking with an Abominable Intelligence like it was a pet and Irena wondered where that third Imperial cruiser could have come from.

"Elaborate on the Xenomorphs." The Ghost ordered, shivers running up her back.

"Zerg larvae found frozen on Braxis, to be transported to Korhal along with shipment of recruits, minerals, Vespene gas and military hardware from Cirion Multinational Corporation, delivered inside Penitentiary facility five on Braxis. Do you require further information?

"No, whatever you do, do not wake these things unless I expressively order you to. Confirm command." Her tone was so hard, the Navigator felt sorry for the adjutant and the machine seemed to flinch.

"Xenomorphs are to be held captive until ordered otherwise by administrator." The machine whined.

Karen sat in the captain's chair and Irena walked up to her, wondering just what the Ghost would do next. "Good, now, do we have neural resocialization tanks aboard?" An idea was dawning inside Worst's brain, an idea that would ensure they didn't become slaves to that wannabe evil empire…

"Affirmative; four hundred Resoc Tanks available in Cargo Hold four."

"Transfer the frozen recruits to the tanks and change their loyalty from the Terran Dominion to…" She thought for a while about the best possible name for their new force, but decided it was not her call to make, "Hold that thought, get me in contact with the Protoss ship…"

The Adjutant tried its best to obey, steam rising from its frame because of the effort, but finally gave up, head hung low in shame.

"Could not establish transmission, please state frequency."

"Unknown Error." Karen laughed. Someone had obviously programmed some personality in that Adjutant… Maybe she could ask Sven to make it smarter trough technopathy once the Spectre came back.

Shaanis soon appeared at the usual spot on the right side of the room.

"_Your orders, Lieutenant?" _That guy was suspicious in Karen's book; too servile, too nice, it hid something.

"Yeah, I need your opinion about a way to call ourselves, as a unified force…"

The old Protoss' eyes shined brighter with the prospect of actually using his vast knowledge.

"_Well, Lieutenant, we are the remnants of a glorious, yet brutal era, a time of despair for both our races, of bleak prospects for the future and where survival alone was a hard goal to achieve, and now we are here, lost in a future so distant both our civilizations are no more._

_We stand together, different in faith and body, yet unified, enemies of old siding together and facing this new world as a single whole. Do you think you can find a name that suits this situation?"_

Ghosts? No way, this would not sit well with most of the others. Specters was out of the question… Karen leaned back in her seat. Remnants? Zombies? Koprulu alliance? United Species Front?

Her gazed fixed on the Revenant's coat of arms. A Hydralisk's skull with two Impaler rifles in the behind it and a clenched fist as the background, red and gold all over and the motto 'We're Back' at the front.

She swirled in her seat and smiled devilishly.

"How about the Revenants?"

The Protoss simply nodded. It was a fitting name that would strike fear in their foes…

"_How do you plan to acquire more troops?" _The Nerazim suddenly asked, taking Worst by surprise.

"Well, I have two hundred about to go trough resocialization right now and I think we have enough resources to arm all of them."

The templar was unimpressed. This Imperium sacrificed its soldiers by the thousands for trivial objectives. Two hundred Terran Marines were a good start, their weapons and armor giving them a certain edge over any warrior they had encountered so far, and he knew of their subliminal training technique that allowed them to recruit untrained enemy civilian and turn them into loyal Marines in days.

Of course, the Imperial citizens lacked the sharp physical attributes years of genetic enhancement had granted the Terrans, but the Powered armors used by the humans would compensate for it quite well. If the Revenants played their cards right, they could take over this planet, mine every available minerals, resocialize a good part of the population, build a sizable fleet and oppose that xenophobic and oppressive regime.

Of course, the knowledge that it was by that same regime's hand that Shakuras had been destroyed, twenty thousands year prior, did little to encourage a more diplomatic course of actions.

He explained all that to the Terran woman, also mentioning the fact he trusted her to be at least as brutally effective as the Queen of Blades had been, this prompted some unease on the Ghost's part.

"In fact, there is a pair of Zerg larvae on the Revenant, do you think…"

The Protoss' ferocious tone made her jump. "Use them! I will prepare a gene therapy that will allow you to become their new Overmind. You are a powerful enough psychic for such a task…"

"Wow… Wow!" She yelped, jumping off her seat, her arms flailing around wildely, "Why don't you take that Zerg gene therapy? "

The Protoss was now yelling as well, "We are immune to infestation! Only a human Psychic may fulfill such a task."

All blood drained from Karen's face. She didn't want to become like Kerrigan, she didn't want to be infested and she totally did not want to be linked to Zergs!

She tried to find excuses, something to substract herself from the task, but didn't have to…

"This is Kudrenkov… Uh… Tell the Inquisitor I killed the governor, but can't retrieve his head."

Khalia walked to the holographic display of Sven's face and asked him what he meant.

"Just… Just check the palace, okay?" His voice was tense, like a child who committed a fault.

Irena aligned the ship's powerful cameras with the city and magnified until they could see the remains of a burning skyscraper covering the spot the palace used to occupy. The camera followed a two kilometers long trail of destruction and finally revealed a seven hundred meters wide and three hundred meters deep crater where the building most likely used to be.

Karen was too relieved by her new idea to even notice the oddity of it, but the other two women and even the Adjutant were left speechless by the scene. Irena spoke first.

"Darlin', did you just hurl a building at that guy's face?"

"Uh… Sorta?"

"What kind of power could possibly do such a thing!" Khalia marveled, looking closer at the utter Armageddon left bellow. It was the kind of things you saw only in old stories about Adeptus Astartes.

"Uh… Ammunition depot sealed in a bank's vault." Was all Sven could answer.

"Calculating…" The Adjutant suddenly quipped, "Such an event would have 1.1 percent chance of happening and 0.00000001 percent chances of landing on your intended target."

Everyone stared at the screen in silence for almost a minute, then a low, resonating laugh was heard, slightly evil in nature. Everyone looked around, expecting some god of chaos to reveal he had caused the destruction, but it was only Shaanis, apparently finding the whole situation to be hilarious.

Iren soon followed and Khalia tried to hide her own laugh. Even Karen was smiling when she ordered the Spectre back to the ship.

Then, as an afterthought, she turned to the Adjutant, "Oh, and program the Marines to obey any orders given by Revenants officer, instead of Dominion's, and add a few stages to their training, I'll need them to be level B Special Forces."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"And release everyone with express instruction to meet me in Cargo hold C."

"Yes Lieutenant."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Took me a while, but I finally found necessary info on Zerg and Nids and what the result of a meeting would be. The Zergs would be crushed at first, but then adapt much faster than the Tyranids ever could and inflict greater casualties after each defeat before finally reaching a level where they've absorbed every viable specimen of Tytanid and stolen all of their advantages...**

**What you guys think?**

**Kane: Actually, I made Sven a Spectre precisely because he was meant to lead the Zergs, since I needed someone as powerful as Kerrigan and an explanation for their power... I also wanted him as a crazy anti-hero so that he would have no qualm about unleashing the fury of the swarm and using underhanded techniques.**

**Blackhole1:I know!D: Can't help it :S I added Zerg to my auto correct dictionary so it should be good from now on. And of course there is a logical explanation to that tiny bit of humor, I made sure the Adjutant mentioned how crazy that was for a reason ;)**

**Master of the Blood Wolves: Well, they will have act like Rogue Traders from time to time, but... Well, just check out this chapter, you'll know what their plans are.**

* * *

><p><em>Patriots always talk of dying for their country and never of killing for their country.<br>Bertrand Russel-_

_**Revenant**_** Medical Facility**

**01/01/00 (Revenants calendar)**

**Braxis' orbit**

**0032 hours (**_**Revenant**_** time)**

I am completely naked, my balls freezing off on the stainless operating table. Last I check, there was twelve of us, but Karen seems to have pulled medical techs out of her ass and they are reproducing, since there's six of them in the room right now, discussing the possible outcomes. One of them requested that _everyone_ wear lab coats, including the Protoss scientist.

That's hilarious, really, but she doesn't seem to mind.

She observes my body like a lab specimen and I decide to poke some fun at her.

"Like what you see, Doc?"

"_No, you are too weak for this procedure, we will have to proceed gradually. Luckily, your brain is protected from unwanted corruption by the Zerg's programmed instincts, thanks to your abusive use of Terrazine and Jorium."_

Heh, I don't drink, never do drugs, don't smoke, don't play, barely do Stims and never even had unprotected sex, yet she gives me shit for using the only substance able to keep up with the local players.

"_Fair enough, we will induce an artificial Zerg cocoon around you and control your mutation from the outside,"_ She hands me a holo display of a Terran with a list of 'Upgrades' next to it. "_You may choose your own mutations, if you like, but bear in mind that the more mutated you become, the less human DNA will remain… Don't loose your humanity over power."_

Is she really telling this to me? The guy who accepted to use a highly unstable mutagen to gain maybe one level on the PI?

Whatever. I scroll trough the whole and start by selecting the hardened muscles option. The Terran grows a bit more muscular, but still within human norm. Next I select a Psi amplifier organ and the display remains the same. Now what? Wings? No thanks, claws? Forget it… Subdermal Carapace? Fuck yeah.

The Terran grows a bit more, but is now much more boxy, unnatural. I cancel that last thing, a feeling of revulsion filling my guts. Power, but not at the cost of humanity…

These last, plus accelerated healing, increased reflexes and acid spitting abilities are all I select out of the thousands of possible mutations. I hand the tablet back and the Protoss psionically smile.

"_Very wise of you, General Kudrenkov, may I suggest one last feature, however?"_

The Protoss' blue eyes are sparkling playfully.

"What?" She hands me the tablet back and there is an option at the top of the list I seem to have missed: Overmind. The dominant Zerg entity, who's will is the Swarm's own and has access to the Hive's genetic knowledge… Yeah I guess it would be smart.

I press it and the Terran's eyes glow blue, like a Protoss'.

"Anything else?" I ask, giving her the tablet back.

"_Yes,"_ she hesitates, as if fearing I would back down from whatever it is she's about to say. _"You will be conscious during the whole procedure, seeing as your brain can resist any known sedative…"_

Yeah, I knew that already, I ain't stupid, but someone's gotta do it if we want to have all the benefits the Zergs could bring us and, quite frankly, it's just another mean for me to become more powerful.

"I know, let's do this." She motions for me to lie down and the techs actually run out of the room. One of them, however, gives me a squeeze on the shoulder.

"Good luck, pal, better you than me." The honesty makes me chuckle.

"Hey, I'm about to become the motherfucking Overmind, pal, I'm not complaining…"

"You should, buddy, you should." He laughs, leaving the room as well.

The Protoss' psychically tells me to relax and just wait as it will soon begin.

I have no clue how that happens or where it's coming from, but I soon find myself comfortably snuggled in some kind of egg, a tickling feeling running over my skin.

Well, it ain't so bad… Why did they make it out to be atro… Ow… Something just dug in the arch of my left foot… OW! Right one now. Something tears open my navel and apparently plugs an umbilical tube to me. Fucking gr…

God damnit! What now! Something is slicing the skin of my arms, spreading a searing hot liquid burn all over them.

Then, spines dig themselves in my back, one for each vertebras. They got all the way trough the bones. The pain is blinding and I actually pass out from that, thankfully, but wake up shortly after.

Panic and failure to adapt kill peoples. Stay calm… Yet once something cut my torso open and starts fucking around my guts, I just can't stay calm anymore.

"Stop! I don't want to do this anymore!" I scream, mentally, as my lips are sealed together, "Let me out! Something's wrong! Let me out!"

No answer. I trash about, but I'm weak and the cocoon's fused with my flesh.

"_Everything is fine." _Shaanis' voice reassures me, _"You are almost done. Be strong, Friend Kudrenkov."_

Almost done? Must have passed out longer that I thought, or that old bastard is just talking shit.

God! I feel like someone just ripped off my fingernails, only all over my body. Why did I volunteer for this? What the fuck was I thinking, acting all tough and shit? Wasn't being able to shoot ships down with my brain enough? NOOO! I had to become the FUCKING OVERMIND, how stupid am I?

Then, I pass out once again.

0

0

0

**Verlana City**

**01/01/00 (Revenants calendar)**

**Braxis**

**0032 hours (**_**Revenant**_** time)**

Victor watched the Super-heavy tank with the same look one gets when he sees that sexy woman at the bar who's most likely to make him piss molten rock for years, steal his wallet in the night and maybe even stab him in his sleep but is too drunk to care.

"So… Do we really _have _to let the locals have that baby?" Dylan asked, sounding heart broken.

"It takes al least seven crew members, we're just six. Yeah, we have to." Greg didn't seem very happy either. The last time he had seen a tank this big was back when the Arclites were still in service. He then added, "And our suits won't fit in it."

Hannah laughed at that, "This thing is bigger than my first apartment! What's the point of being so large; it can't maneuver half the streets in the town."

Dylan had an answer ready, "Baby, ya don't need maneuvering when ya can jus' rip trough shit!"

"Some truth to that…" The tank had been dropped by air earlier that day and was now lying on a seventy meters wide landing pad, huge and motionless.

As if on a cue, a group of men, dressed in what could have been light infantry suits, emerged from the jungle, a hundred meters ahead. One of them said something in a back mounted phone and a all of their suits picked up a radio signal.

"You! On the tank! Identify yourselves!"

Greg was quick to answer, "We're the mercs sent to make sure there's still a tank when you get here. You boys the Cata… Cathachan?"

"Yes, that's us." The man signed off and his forces advanced onto the deforested area, seemingly uncomfortable with leaving the hostile jungle for the more open ground.

They covered the gap fairly quick and the leader, a Sergeant large and old enough to be Sergeant Fauster's long lost twin brother, climbed on the tank with his laser carbine slung in his back.

"Sergeant Fauster." Both he and Greg introduced themselves at the same time, shaking hands with a 'what the fuck' expression painted on their faces. Forty thousand years was a much too long time for a family name to indicate and sort of blood link, yet the resemblance was so striking everyone of Greg's team agreed this guy was the Sarges great great great great great great great… grandson.

Even Greg couldn't help but laugh inside his visor.

He slapped the other man's shoulder and jerked his armored thumb to the tank's hatch.

"C'mon, pal, let's show those psychos how real divine intervention feels!"

With that, the Marine jumped off the tank, landing so hard his suit's artificial gravity couldn't compensate for the whole shock. He readied his Impaler and sent the War Pigs on point while the Marauder and Firebat watched the less armored back of the tank.

Meanwhile, he took the right flank, and Vince had the left while Hannah just sat on top of the tank, enjoying the view, but still keeping her Flak pistol ready.

An Imperial Guardsman looked at the huge pistol with incredulity and the medic winked at him.

"I'm all about size…"

That disturbed the man more than he cared to admit.

Above, Astarte drop pods were raining down from the sky.

0

0

0

**200 kilometers north of Verlana Ctiy**

**01/08/00 (Revenants calendar)**

**Braxis' Jungles**

**0632 hours (**_**Revenant**_** time)**

"Ow." My psionic voice scares the shit out of me. It's cavernous, raspy and… Evil sounding. "Hey, what the fuck is wrong with me?"

I can now see my own body, because of the small rays of light filtering trough thin spots of the egg, can move too, tough not much. There is a hard substance around me, as if the cocoon was now just like an egg.

"Hey! Can I get out now?"

No answer. I try to take a breath, but there's no air entering my lungs. Panic takes hold and I try punching trough the cocoon, to no avail. It's hard as rock.

"Someone get me out of this thing!"

"_Stand still." _Shaanis' voice orders. I do as asked and keep my arms along my body.

A green glow fills the cocoon as the Dark Templar cuts trough it with his warp blade.

As soon as the blade is gone, leaving only a red hot trail, I kick the shit out of the shell and leap out, totally naked in the middle of the jungle. Wait, what?

"_Some disorientation will be normal, take your time…"_

I see the two Zergs I was told about, caged in Protoss force fields atop a couple of metal crates. In the background, I spot a large pile of raw crystals and barrels of Vespene gas.

My own body looks slightly more muscular and is radiating a strange red glow, but I think it's just my advanced vision that lets me see in infrared and such. One big difference, however, is the disappearance of my tattoos… Damn things cost me a fortune!

We're in a clearing, the shattered egg laying right on the mossy floor. Seems the climate changes quickly around here, since the sun is now piercing in thick white rays trough the thicker green canopy.

Around the clearing, the trees form an unbreakable barrier, enclosing me and the caged larvae in a hundred meter wide, sixty meter long field of moss and grass…

"_You will find your armor and drug in the crates."_ Shaanis announces, from somewhere on my right, _"You are free to create your Swarm in whatever way you desire and we will help you with any genetic manipulation you need done."_

I look at the Templar and nod once. "Thanks, Shane, but why the fuck didn't you guys wait for me to wake up before you shipped us down on the surface?"

I'm not mad, I just don't get it.

The aged Protoss sighs and sits on a rock, _"The political situation…" _I understand politics, but I still hate them, so I stop him with a wave of my hand.

"Forget I asked. Any suggestion as to what I'm supposed to do now?"

"_Create your Swarm, make it evolve and keep our implication with it a secret, for the moment…"_

Interesting plan… "You want me to prey on the Imperials?"

"_Indeed."_ His voice is slightly creepy, _"Meanwhile, we will work for them as mercenaries, as your forces combined with the Chaos cultists are bound to exert a strain significant enough that they would delay their inevitable betrayal."_

"So we can betray them first, on our own terms…" I muse, "And in the meantime, we get to evaluate their technology and I could easily get some sample of their best stuff, then ship them to you so you can reverse engineer whatever advantage they have."

That makes him beam with something close to pride. _"You shall truly be a worthy Overmind…" _He stands and slowly rises into his cloaked shuttle, _"Farewell, Friend Kudrenkov, and give them hell."_

I can actually see the shape of the shuttle as it speeds away, thanks to my new senses, but I need to actually focus on it…

Well, let's get to work.

First, I open every crates and pick up my gear, slipping it on quickly. Feels nice to know I won't have mantises or such castrate me in my sleep… The Daemon weapon is still in the case I tossed it in, but I leave it there, feeling the inhabitant's confusion as to just what the hell happened to me.

Next, I free the two Zergs and instinctively know what I need. Drones. Although it's more an impression, there is no real words attached to it, I just see the image and psionic _taste _of a drone… I transmit the impression to the two slimy things, causing them to curl on themselves and excrete some sort of cocoon the size of a boulder. Normally, they'd feed from the creep, but since there is none here, the Protoss left me some kind of nutrient hose to shower them with.

The thing is in a large boxy crate and already assembled, since I'm an idiot. All I have to do is drag the hose out, stick a pike in the ground between the two Zergs and hang the large circular showers to it.

Easy. And now that it's done, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I can feel them evolving and we're still a very long way from the intended result… One of the crates contains a tent and other equipment, so I might as well find a spot to set up my camp.

We're on the edge of the jungle, close to the southern wall of trees and there is one particular tree that interests me; it's bigger than any other around, at leas seventy meters high and six meters wide, it has long and thin branches that seem to struggle to hold their own weight, but that's not what interests me; it's the large roots at the base that seem to have shaped themselves around a rock at one point, yet there is no more rock in there and the 'cave' it created is now slightly above ground…

I slip in it and look around quickly. It looks like a bunker, extending a meter underground and about three meters large. There are a few more holes in it, but they are all blocked by tough looking spikes and vines… An excellent spot for me to set up camp shielded from any eyes in the sky.

The tent itself, a self-assembling dome, I set up near the crates to use as my computer room. Because, of course, the guys sent me a full shipment of computers with Zerg DNA and combat performance data on it.

I unfold a camping table and a chair, set up the two Terran terminals and lone Protoss holo tablet on the table and get to work.

The Protoss injected the two larvae with some of the genetic material Kerrigan came up with. Girl was smart, replacing the Cerebrates by Queens and making the Queens more independent. Smart, but not military-like, I'll have to find a better process.

Another thing I'd like to change is the Ultralisks. In themselves, the big fuckers are perfect and their OR3 hardened carapace is impervious to all but anti-tank weaponry, I just want to make them more… versatile, maybe add an anti air capacity like that of an Hydralisk or something.

Next up are the Zerglings. The things are made to swarm and be cheap and I ain't about to contradict thousands of years of evolution. I just feel like I could create more costly yet powerful 'Special Force' Zerglings by increasing leg power and wingspan and reducing the claws size. Some king of Recon Zergling.

I work like that, trying different combinations, then sending them to the simulation

My eyes are beginning to sting and swell, and I suppress a yawn with difficulty. I gotta sleep…

The Drones will take a while to get formed, but I'd rather not leave the eggs without supervision, this jungle is filled with predators and such… Whatever, I'll just sleep next to them; if anything happens, I can feel all the fetuses do so I'm bound to wake up…

Oddly, the ground doesn't feel uncomfortable; even the rock under my head doesn't bother me… Probably something to do with hardened muscles or something.

Or I'm just very tired.

As I wait for fatigue to take over, I think back to the recent events… More precisely to that explosion with the building… Lots of weird things happen in combat, especially for a Psychic, but that, that was beyond weird… Of all the buildings I could have choosen as vantage point, it had to be the one with all the ammunitions in it. And what kind of idiot stores so much explosives in a single place anyway? No, something made me set fire to the place, made that fire burn much harder than it should, then… Then what? Threw a building across the city to terminate my target?

Maybe it was the Daemon in the laspistol but I doubt it… I could swear I heard whispers when things went off, something like Protoss or I don't know… But the Imperium wiped out the 'toss, so who did it and why?

From that point, my thoughts are not as coherent. I'm not asleep, but not exactly conscious either.

A sudden influx of sensations jerks me away from my short semi-slumber and I find myself in the dark, faced with a pair of Drones. "Hey, guys…" I greet, not really surprised. Seems I can enter some form of hibernation on a whim, seeing as about eight or ten hours must have passed for the sun to be down and a bit more than that for the cocoons to hatch.

I feel affection and curiosity coming from the primitive creatures and tell them what I need trough some bran new pathway in my brain. My control is sloppy and communication is still rough, but the understand what I want and one of them begins eating what synthetic creep remains before following with raw OR3 crystals.

The other one seems to understand that I need practice at Zerg communication and just stay there, sending me informations… Genetic codes, food levels, possible colony layouts… All of them instinctive stuff I perfectly understand but can't get the logical side of my brain to assimilate.

I guess I shouldn't try to and just accept things like they are; I control the Zerg swarm, but have no idea just how I do it.

The Drones are not combatant forms, but they can still defend themselves easily with their large pincers and acid saliva, so I figure I'll scout the area for some OR3 formations and Vespene.

It seems the others didn't see fit to give me a weapon, however, so I pick up the hotshot laspistol and put it in my thigh holster. Thight fit, but fit nonetheless.

As for getting out of the clearing… Well, I just telekinetically push some foliage out of the way and climb trough, just to the right of the tall tree.

The vegetation wall was most probably caused by the large amount of light from the clearing. Probably an explosion a few hundred years ago, as the rest of the jungle is quite maneuverable, although not what you'd call easy terrain…

I land on a cluster of roots, earning a hollow thump and a lot of twig snapping.

Ahead, the jungle is thick and dark, even to my augmented eyesight. I use my suit's systems, but there's movement all over the place and some of these trees are giving off heat, so I must retract my visor and rely on my still untested 'Zerg eyesight'.

It's not the darkness that poses problem; I see just fine, albeit in black and white, no, it's the thick foliage and constant drumming and shrilling of insects that prevents me from hearing if something's creeping on me.

I get moving, cloaked and quiet, trying not to disturb foliage as I cut trough. I loose track of time from watching the world with my new, better eyes. It's interesting to think that I do not feel the occasional headaches my ocular implants caused, yet have a much better eyesight then I did back then…

I soon find happen across a derelict Chimera transport with a tree growing trough the turret ring. There was a battle here long ago…

I duck under a large fern, step over a rotting tree and climb a very steep hill, the whole in about ten minutes. I love this, I never really got to see jungles from the inside before, except for Aiur and this was much different.

The hill I am now on seems to be the remains of a crater, or a dune, maybe, whatever it is, I can make out a semi-circular shape and a steep slope leading to a focal point. I slide down that slope, humus and lichen staining my back, hands and legs on the process, and look around, dusting myself up. Dirt interferes with the cloaking field, so I need to get it off as much as possible.

Now, there are absolutely no trees growing in the middle of that crater on a four meters radius. Probably a good sign.

See, OR3 crystals are easy to find on hasher planets like Mar Sara, Char or Braxis, but on Aiur or this new Braxis, they are most likely buried under a meter or so of rotting organic substances. Now how am I going to dig it out from under all this crass? Shop-Vac?

Ooohhh…

I start a small twister in the middle of the crater and give it enough spin to swallow the dirt, humus and rocks before hurling them away. A good digging technique, honestly, I just need to make it slower and larger if I want to just graze the surface or make it thin and fast if I intend to dig in deep.

In any case, I don't need to do anything else right now as a few crystals finally poke trough the ground, so I let the twister die out and step in the hole to evaluate the size of that mineral deposit.

I don't really know what I'm doing, whether it's my subconscious or Zerg instincts, in any case, I know I need to touch these crystals, so I do and the result is quite fascinating; red Psi energy spreads from the contact point and soon turns what little exposed crystal I can see to a dark violet shade.

A strange coldness fills my bones while my mind scans the OR3 vein before coming finally superposing the result to my vision; the vein is fairly large and runs deep, we could build one or two Behemot-calss Battlecruisers from it. Perfect.

I send this location to the Overmind part of my brain, where it will be remembered by every single Zergs. There's only two of them right now, but that'll change.

Vespene won't be that easy to find and from what I understood, the Revenant will need all its resources to build up a sizable force, so I'd rather be self sufficient on every aspect…

Vespene resonates at some electromagnetic frequencies, so I could modulate my psi echo to the right frequency and listen to the feedbacks… Of course, I have no clue what a Vespene feedback sounds like…

Still I try it out, sending an invisible pulse that makes the crystals at my feet glow purple for a second.

Strongest feedback I get is coming from under my feet, but there's also another one to the east that rises above the cacophony of answers I received from rocks and trees.

I get on my way, climbing the slope with the help of some tough ferns and rocks before following a half filled trench, now covered in green and ferns, but acting as a path trough the jungle…

Something moves to my left, fast and brutal. I roll away just in time and Psi blast the huge Venus flytrap. It should have boiled to death, but instead spits a weird substance at me, substance I prevent from hitting my eyes trough in extremis use of my psi shield.

I draw the laspistol and unleash three shots into the bulbous head and two in the 'neck', killing that motherfucking petunia…

"_First you picked me up your first mistake," _a voice scolds, coming from the gun, and it stops there, as if hesitant, _"Interesting… You are not feeling the overwhelming need to, say, scream blood for the blood god right now?"_

That daemon just tried to possess me, didn't it? I just re-holster the thing and get moving again, to the gun's frustration.

"No. If you try shit like that again, I melt you and use you as codpiece, we clear?"

"_Whatever, tough guy, so… Who are you supposed to be?"_

"I'm your boss, anything else you need to know?"

"_Whatever you say, hotshot, just wake me when there's some blood to spill…"_

I reach a cliff and, though I could easily levitate, set to free climb it with my new, better muscles.

"So, that building incident," I ask, halfway trough, "Was that you?"

The gun seems annoyed at my desire for conversation…

"_Talking ain't killing, kid… No, it wasn't me, but if you find whoever did that, could you please give me to them?"_

I wonder what god this Daemon serves… Might be Khorne, but he seems quite well spoken for a bloodletter or whatever they're called…

I ask the gun and it laughs, "I_'m no daemon! I used to serve for the Imperial Army, sided with Horus and, well, was made an offer I couldn't refuse… Next thing I know, I'm stuck in this blasted lasgun… If I were a daemon, I wouldn't be a lasgun…"_

I have no idea about half the shit he just said. No matter, I finally make it on top of that cliff, which turns out to be a small plateau with holes all over it. The smell of Vespene is all over the place. Looking closer at the cliff, I can see tiny holes on the ground excreting bubbles of liquid. Vespene can be found in many different states, liquid being one of them and although not as effective for use in vehicles, I can tell just from the smell than this place will do just fine for the Zerg Swarm, so I mark it as well in the collective mind and make my way back to camp.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N : So, yes, I am working on a plot right now, this is going somewhere, don't worry ^^**

**Kane : I liked Vexmaster's story and how he handled the Zergs, but I got my own ideas for the Revenants (Like the fact Sven is a Blank and wasn't born that way :D) I'm still thinking about what the Swarm's new capital ship will be like, but it'll probably be bigger than Leviathan, seeing as the 40k universe tends to make everything so huge… and the 'Upgrades' were Zerg genetic manipulation, since they kinda infested him…**

**Level B special forces mean (in my story) resocced marines with better gear, nothing else, they're a bit like the Cerberus guys the Dominion used.**

**Finally, the Revenant doesn't, but the SCVs aboard do.**

**Shash: Size doesn't matter here, because that's the point, for the moment, they are isolated and scraping to get by, they'll run from _any_ dangerous foe. **

**But I think you are underestimating the Zergs, don't get me wrong, the Nids are awesome and would steamroll Kerrigan or the Overmind's swarm in seconds, but that's because these two didn't have much genetic material to work with, whereas Nids have a real melting pot of DNA to play with; Tyranids always stick to the same template, they'll evolve new carapace, new tactics, but their troops remain the same, the Zergs will evolve new _species_ to deal with their problems while still being capable of adapting themselves on an individual level.**

** Personally, I don't know who'd win and who's better, but like I said at the beginning, I don't care, I just tell a story, I did my homework and brought my conclusion; the current Zerg are too weak to take on the Tyranids, but will slowly adapt at each fight (And get their ass kicked every time).**

**Master of the Blood Wolves: lol, yeah, working on it :D**

**Zaku Unit 2.0: I… Will try to do this while remaining within acceptable suspension of disbelief ;)**

* * *

><p><em>"The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of bitching."<em>

_Unknown-_

When I arrive at the clearing, someone has made a campfire between the tent and boxes and the hatchery is well on its way.

From where I am, I can't see inside the tent, but I do see light coming from it and shadows on the ground, although a mental probe reveals it's the Protoss doc and that technician who told me how bad an idea it was for me to undergo the procedure.

About twenty meters further, a large pulsing blob of flesh the size of an delivery truck is… well, growing right in front of me, in real time… I evaluate it will be ready in thirty hours, give or take… The second drone has apparently been hunting insects and small animals for genetic material as well as simple food, seeing as doing nothing is against its very nature.

It is floating around a meter tall mound of carcasses when it notices I'm back, a feeling of joy filling our link as it asks if I am pleased. I emit some satisfaction and the drone shrills in primal happiness.

Well, let's say hello to the visitors…

The Protoss can feel something is coming and just knows it's not really human, so she activates her warp scythe and stands while the medical tech draws his pistol, barely controlling his fear.

When something unnerves a Protoss; be afraid, be very afraid.

I didn't intend to scare them, however, so I uncloak about five meters away with my hand up and call out to them.

"I would offer you a drink, but no one thought wise to pack me a minibar…"

They both relax and I can finally enter my own work tent.

The tech gladly leaves me the chair and sits on a Vespene barrel, just like the Protoss does, her digitigrades legs making it awkward to her.

"How may I help you guys?" I ask, taking the offered seat.

The Protoss presses something on the holo-tablet and a map of every cities near my area is shown. Eight of them, marked in green, yellow and red. Most are yellow, one is green and the last one is the biggest and the only red there is.

"_This map will allow you to know what city you may or may not attack. We will update it regularly."_ She seems proud of that concept. It's not dumb, I admit, but they could just as well send me telepathic messages… Of course, they are all too biased toward Zerg to even want to touch my mind… No matter, it's a good way to ensure no one's gonna be fucking with my brain.

"So, red means no touching, green means have fun, but what about yellow?"

"We don't give a damn." The tech explains. The guy has slightly graying hairs and isn't anywhere as strong as a Marine, but he's seen some action, it shows in his eyes.

I nod and begin playing with my balisong; I flip it open, then roll it across the back of my hand and catch it once it's back in my palm before repeating the process the other way around.

"Also, we wanted to tell you that if you want to lead from the front, we just told the Imperium you were killed in the assassination of the governor and showed them some very convincing evidences," The tech smiles, "even held funeral and incineration process. Very cute; you were made a martyr and some people actually cried."

Who could cry for me? I just got here and everyone from the Revenant knows I ain't dead…

He laughs at my silence, "No one told you? They thought you were some kind of saint, an angel, I dunno, some even made a shrine to you…" His face darkens somewhat, "Before the Space Marines killed them anyway…"

I ask about space Marines and they both explain the bulk of their observations; Super highly trained religious freaks fitted with a low-tech yet beefed up variant of the CMC armor allowing them to achieve the kind of combat effectiveness you'd get from a Protoss Zealot armed with an automatic anti-armor weapon.

Their suit is reliant on the wearer's strength, making the genetically ehanced Space Marines stronger than our own Marines, yet any other wearer would be much weaker, they have thicker plates that are pretty much on par with the Vanadium –whatever that is- plated armor we issue to our special forces. Their weapons work like canister rifles, except on full-auto, but once again, the U-238 shells we give our Spec Ops marines are almost par with those, compensating the caliber difference trough velocity and sheer rate of fire.

"We managed to let them believe our own gear was actually derived from an Imperial weapon cache we found on our world and that we're are actually a bunch of lost colonists who refurbished and refitted a stealth ship." The Tech is on a roll. I don't mind, I'm in the mood to listen. "They don't really buy into that story, but they are glad enough for our help not to ask any questions… For now."

Apparently, the Navy thinks we've outlived our usefulness, but the Space Marines commander, along with the Inquisitor believe we are a lesser problem and that they should still tread carefully with us, given how useful we've been so far. The Space Marines are convinced they could take this whole planet by themselves, but they had a run in wit some other race right before coming here and lost all of their armored support.

"How the hell do we know all this?" I finally stop them, earning a pair of confused stares.

"_We have tapped into their communications system, planted listening devices and cameras aboard their ships and captured, 'reprogrammed' and released many Imperial officers… Our intelligence network is solid."_

Never question a Dark Templar on how they got to know what they know.

We talk about the current political situation and possible size of the Imperium –most estimations are that they span a handful of planets, a hundred or so.- for many hours, the tech slowly falling asleep despite his desire to theorize some more.

I discuss with the Protoss, Lakia, about just how I'm supposed to cause genetic mutations in my brood and she explains that there is many way, most would require creating an counselor with access to the hive structure and Zerg DNA who could implement any change I ask, seeing as a specialized entity would be much more precise and effective at this task, and I decide I'll whip up something from the first batch of larvae.

"_May I ask you a question?" _She asks, very serious all of a sudden.

"You just did."

"_Do you feel… Different, in any way?"_

That requires some thought. I feel stronger and tougher- because I am- smarter, less constricted, because I have access to the processing power of the drone and growing structure's brains, but I have not felt any need to consume or conquer… Not more than I usually do, anyway.

"No, I have more processing power and using my psi abilities feels less straining, but that's it…" I frown, "Why, was there I risk I would turn like Kerrigan?"

"_We had never tried such an experiment before, anything could have happened."_

Nice… She gets up and wake the tech with a pinch on the top of his head.

"Ow!" He looks up, "Fucking alien…"

I can tell he's actually one of the only human crewmembers who tolerates being around the Protoss… Or me.

"_It is time for us to take our leave, Friend Kudrenkov, however, I would have one last question for you…"_

"Shoot."

"_Have you thought of a title, other than general, as a leader of the new Zerg Swarm?" _Absolutely no thinking is involved in my answer.

"Tyrants choose their names, like Kerrigan choose hers, I'll let mine come by itself."

I sense some approval from her as she walks away, along with John, the tech.

They came in with some sort of cloaked Terran Dropship, something I've never seen before, and leave with it as well. I guess this visit served to test out the new model…

I turn to the hatchery's cocoon. It's huge now and has rooted itself deep underground. Soon enough, it will be producing a larvae every hour with a maximum of three, will expend creep and allow me access to the most basic Zerg genetic specimen.

Three hours before I must get to work. I don't feel tired, so I guess I'll just study some more about my Swarm's DNA baggage.

I got the old Overmind's stuff and some of Kerrigan's innovation, which are smart enough… Okay, some like the Banelings are brilliant, but why replace Creep colonies with tumors shat by high grade units? Sure, the mobile defenses are useful, but creep colonies allowed the swarm to cover a large area with a terrain that advantages them early during the battle… The new Queens, however, are an excellent concept that I most likely will adapt to Lieutenants; sentient commanding unit in charge of their own broods.

I inhale a shot of Terrazine and remove my mask to take a sip on my canteen.

One of the main problems of the swarm is its lack of Shock and Awe operation units; fast deployment storm troops, faster retreat means, maybe some stealth forces, it's always Zerg Rush, eat, kill and keep pressing forward, yet the current situation calls for me to use some kind of air assault or underground units to deliver troops in the heart of enemy fortresses and bring them back without our foes following us…

Maybe I can alter the Nydus Worm to be able to emerge faster…

Nah, there mush be a good reason they can't, I shouldn't fuck with that, instead, I think I should work on some form of organic artillery, something that throws small but hardened units from a distance… Maybe those Zerglings I thought up earlier would do; the right wingspan would let the slow and control their descent while their stronger muscles allow them better speed and efficiency… Zerg Paratroopers, baby.

Maybe I can make something similar out of Banelings…

I enter the simulations data and watch the many possible splicing I could make to obtain that result… Ranging from catapults to Intra orbital dropships shitting troops on the enemy position.

My favorite is to just give Nydus worms an explosive regurgitation ability that would propel the Zerg in its belly high in the air and, from there they could steer themselves in the right direction…

I'd also appreciate some for of mimetic ability for these Zerglings, nothing like metamorphs, just the ability to change color, but there's nothing in the database that relates.

I almost have an heart attack when the hatchery finally hatches in an explosion of grayish substance; it covers everything in a thirty meters radius and plunge my tent into darkness, as it covers that too.

Creep… God damn this shit is disgusting… Looking at the mass that covers the door makes me hungry, and that's disgusting too…

Just wondering how I'll move that stuff away makes it melt and recedes, allowing me to see the ten meters tall tower, covered in veins and pulsing organs… A hatchery… and it's mine…

Let's get to work.

First I get the second drone to mutate into some genetic material pool that will grant me the necessary enzymes to hatch Zerglings, then, while I wait, I have one of the larvae mutate to a creature I really just decide on the fly. I need some advisor that can help me implement genetic changes and it seems the Swarm knows just what I need. I also spawn two drones, for gathering purposes.

Then, instead of wasting my time, I go grab some of the Vespene barrels and bring the things two by two, one on each shoulder, to the hatchery where I pour their content in some king of mouth, on the side…

A couple of hours later, the sun slowly pokes trough the canopy.

The whole Vespene reserve is now being digested by the structure and I switch to the remaining OR3. Not a lot of it left, really, but enough to spawn a pair of Zerglings and maybe an Overlord

Already, the creep has spread to half of the clearing and, under my command, doesn't advance any further into the trees; I want to keep our natural protection for as long as possible, as I can feel many predators roaming around, attracted by the pile of dead animals.

As soon as the grayish substance touches said pile, it begins digesting it and absorbing any genetic material.

I browse trough it for a few seconds, but it's all stuff we have in our genetic repertory already, so I quickly return to work.

I don't know how much time passes, I'm too caught up in my work and surveillance of our surroundings, but soon, the spawning pool, located thirty meter south of the hatchery, finishes building and I feel like an immense weight was lifted from my shoulders.

The Advisor is still in gestation, but there is three larvae ready to mutate, so I make them evolve to Zerglings and approach the spawning pool.

It's a pond of greenish goo, approximately twelve meters wide and spread on three level, like Earth's rice fields…

The enzymes it contains have a strong bitter sweet smell close to that of vinegar mixed with mint. Not at all unpleasant…

"_This __**REEKS**__." _

My gun disagrees; I just ignore it and turn around in time to watch a large worm, with many sets of long and bony arms, emerges from the cocoon.

It has no eyes, and look like a mix between a sloth and a spider, but I can feel a surge of intelligence as it attains sentience. That thing has just as much knowledge as any doctor I ever met…

"Welcome to the swarm, brother." I psychically welcome it, "My name is Sven."

It turns around to face me, knowing just where I am despite its lack of sensory organs. Most people would feel reversion to the sight of this thing, but I only see an extension of my body.

"Ah, young Overmind, it shall be a privilege to assist you…" The voice seems to come from a large hole at the tip of it, it's 'face', "How may I serve you?" it snakes its way to my side and I can now see it's three times the length of a man, but barely larger.

I had expected my first exchange with a sentient Zerg to be…less courteous…

"Do you have a name?" I'm in no hurry; I know I can't do anything until I have my Zerglings ready to escort the drones.

"Not yet, do you have suggestions, Overmind?" Its tone is servile and eager, like a kid showing his parents some trick he learned.

"Call me Sven," I groan in return, feeling like some large slug already, "and you have access to most of my memories, any name you like?"

"Kessler…"

I have no clue where I ever heard that name before, but hey, it's his choice!

"Well, Kessler, there is a lot of work to be done, what do you need to get started?"

He knows his purpose already and, by extension, I gained that same knowledge at the moment he was born, but a good leader has to delegate and there is no better chain of command than the Zerg swarm, as my will is immediately his will.

"An evolution chamber would be necessary for me to begin my task… Mutagens would help as well." Kessler explains, rising on itself to come eye to eye with me.

"Where can I find mutagens?"

He thinks for a moment, most probably reviewing all of its genetic knowledge as well as my own memories.

"We are capable of using Vespene gas as a mutation vector and to convert oxygen into superoxide, but such vectors will not be sufficient for fast 'upgrades' to your swarm… If I could explore this jungle, I might find Alkaloid plants to speed the process, maybe some volcanic residues or petrochemical gas pockets…"

He stops and thinks some more, "If you allow me to use Jorium and Terrazine gas, I may be able to work faster…" He seems hesitant to ask, but he shouldn't be, I got enough of both to last me a month at lower minimal doses and I doubt my new Zerg morphology can suffer from withdrawal, so I hand him a refill canister and he delicately grabs between two clawed fingers before dropping it in some sort of ventral sack.

"Thank you, Ove… Sven, I will put it to good use…"

I nod and he resumes his explanations:

"If you inspect some of the nearby Imperial factories for chemicals and such, I am sure you could find sizable quantities of mutagens."

Alright, so the plan is that he goes scour the jungle looking for flowers while I go scout the nearby towns for paint thinner. Awesome.

"Are you combat capable?" He doesn't look very tough, but his claws must serve some purpose…

"Absolutely, this body is a simplified Hydralisk; I can handle myself just as well as any combat breed and as an agent of the Overmind, my consciousness cannot be destroyed…"

Great… Wait, what?

"What do you mean; your consciousness cannot be destroyed?"

His low chuckle kinda creeps me out, "I am now a part of the swarm. My knowledge is shared by all and my consciousness resides in the void, preventing physical means to destroy me... Unless you wish to be rid of me, in which case you could simply use your powers to dissipate me…"

He hopes I'm not tired of his company yet. I'm not, I just didn't know about that last part.

"It's alright, I'd still like you to stay here until the Zerglings hatch and, well, collect samples around the Vespene source until the extractor is ready."

He growls in approbation and I open a secure channel with the _Revenant_, asking if someone could send me my Wraith, as I am going to need its cloaking abilities.

The Adjutant responds that she is sending it to me right away and, in the meantime, I get two larvae to morph into Overlords.

0

0

0

_**Revenant**_

**01/13/00 (Revenants calendar)**

**Braxis' Orbit**

**0912 hours (Revenant time)**

Karen looked at the reports on Sven's progress and sighed. He was doing better than she expected, yet progressed much too slow to her liking…

The Ghost herself was doing quite good; she now commanded a full fleet of SCVs that were using the ships mineral reserves to construct a base, hidden inside a crater on the second moon. Recruits were hard to get, but the Nerazims managed to kidnap a steady stream of ten peoples a day from the slums of various cities on the planet. Her new intelligence corps -composed of Marines with an especially high IQ, despite resocialization- was managing a slightly better influx, with twenty-six recruits a day, thanks to the new stealth Dropships and their larger number.

In the last weeks, Karen had increased her forces to one Marine Force Recon Company, and roughly two regular Marine Companies.

The loss of Dave had crippled them in the air for days, but Worst had found a few civilian pilots amongst the Recruits and the first Viking squadron was almost ready. They wouldn't be as good as Dominion pilots, nor as creative as non-resocialized ones, but the new Vanadium plating, stealth technology and heavy bolter ammunition replacement would compensate for that…

Karen had also re-oriented some of them to pilot Dropships and, well, the things flew like rocks whoever drove them, so no complaints there.

The whole force was, of course, hiding on the moon whereas her 'Command unit' –Greg, Vincent, Hannah, Dylan, Alan, Victor and the two other Pigs, Silva and Cole- were still in the city, fighting side by side with the Guardsmen and marking any useful piece of equipment untainted by Chaos for pickup by cloaked salvage teams.

Karen had no illusions that they could never stand up to the Imperium even if they had the whole Dominion backing them up, but she was not about to let herself or her men get enslaved either…

"Warning: Incoming transmission. Audio only."

Worst stood from the Captain's chair and walked up to the Adjutant.

"Do they know where we are?" If the Imperium had somehow pierced the Protoss stealth technology, they were in deep shit.

"Negative. They are transmitting the same message on very short waves ever since their ship arrived in the system."

To this, the Adjutant obscured a pan of the Plasteel bay and displayed the feed from one of the _Revenant's_ new spy drones.

The ship looked old and beat up… shaped like a sword, it had at least seven canons running along its length and two hangar bays large enough to house a pair of Vikings, both located on either sides of the 'blade'.

The voice that followed almost made Karen laugh; the guy was whispering, as if it would make him more stealthy.

"This is the Stiletto Rogue trading ship to _Revenant_ mercenaries, please respond…"

Obviously, these guys were going to great lengths just to talk to them without the Imperium knowing. That deserved a response, at least.

"Adjutant, can you encrypt the transmission?" Karen asked the green machine. It beeped twice before answering.

"Done, commander, speak when you are ready."

McGoy, the ship's engineer, had come up with quite a few personality software that made the adjutant a little bit smarter and more prone to initiatives. She made some mistakes, but never ones that couldn't be fixed.

"Stiletto, this is Revenant Command, we just encrypted the transmission; you may speak freely."

The voice took a second to respond and it seemed doubtful, "You did wh… Never mind, I came here to offer you my assistance. I know you are building an army and I have been looking for such an opportunity for a long time…"

What kind of idiots had they stumbled across now?

"Whatever you think you know, Stiletto, you are mistaken; we only have a handful of men and most certainly do not have the facilities or resources to train more troops."

"Now, Commander, I know for a fact that is not true. You see, some… Mutual friends have told me about your little operation on the moon. Quite impressive…"

That guy did know things… Who could those mutual friends be? The Protoss? The race had been wiped out utterly, from what Shaanis had told, so who?

Only one way to find out, "Okay, Stiletto, I'm listening…"

"Oh, but I said my part already; I want to tag along with whatever it is you're planning."

Worst was getting real tired real fast of people with hidden agendas… She kinda missed having Sven around for that reason; he was ambitious and he didn't hide it.

"Why?"

"Oh, I have my own reasons, but I can assure you, you will be glad you brought me along; I have a Rogue Trader license signed by the Emperor himself authorizing me to go where I want, when I want, with _whoever_ I want, Xeno, mutant or heretic, so long as they are a 'part of my crew' the Imperium cannot harm them."

A quick look to the Navigator confirmed that such licenses did exist, but Khalia mouthed the word 'Rare', as a warning.

"Alright, I will send some of my men aboard your ship right away to discuss our possible cooperation."

With that, she cut the transmission and contacted the Dark Templars.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So, I'm having trouble trying not to go too fast while still keeping the story interesting, so forgive the frequent time skips :S**

**0**

**Kane: Well, as for the elite marines, they use the Mercenary gear from StarCraft II...**

**The tree, however, is just where Sven lives for the moment.**

**Also, I believe I read somewhere that the Zerg can use every source of energy available to them already, including photosynthesis...**

**Finally, their friends... Uh, I dunno, man, I'm working on that D:**

**0**

**Zaku Unit 2.0: Indeed, and quite a damn bridge to cross... I'll have to read tons of wiki pages before I can step****on it...**

**0**

**Carlo Gesualdo:**

**1:I know, I intend to make this fair for everyone with equal amount of strengths, weaknesses and atrocities for every side of the conflict.**

**2:I didn't know about that :O I'll think of something latter... But the wiki timeline said Khorne was born at some point between M2 and M3... Well, suspension of disbelief, I guess :S **

**3: Actually, I've been writing in english for a while now... I take it you read one of my old stories or...**

**0**

**chaosrafter008: Honestly, I've been making this up on the fly since chapter 4 :S**

**1: Yeah, trying to keep a good balance between story-telling and interesting :S**

**2****: Don't worry, they'll have their moment too :D**

**3:I'm not sure what you mean, to play it off as a Tyranid invasion; as in block all warp travel and suck the planet dry before anyone can call for help?**

**As for the other races, it's part of the plot...**

* * *

><p><strong>Solca Industrial Village<strong>

**01/13/00 **

**Braxis**

**1010 hours **

"_So what's your plan? Go in and start hurling skyscrapers at everyone?"_

The Laspistol seems to have very little faith in my capacities…

"No, I'm planning to sneak in and steal what I want, you got a better suggestion?" Speaking to my gun inside the cockpit of a phased out Starfighter en-route to steal stuff I could normally buy off E-buy is not what I envisioned when I was offered this job as the Zerg Overmind…

"_Yes; there are combat servitors patrolling the streets, a slight reprogram and they're killing everyone on sight. Meanwhile, we can loot anything we want in peace."_

I got nothing against that plan, but I'm a Spectre, not a Reaper, I get in and out without anyone noticing, I don't kill everything in sight…

The cockpit hisses open and I jump out just as my cloaking field engages.

I'll keep in mind the possible army of cyborg as backup, but for now, let's focus on infiltrating the actual factories…

"What's been constructed in this place?" I ask the gun while peeking over the edge of the roof I'm perched on. The village underneath is barely more than a shanty town, with shelters made out of steel plates and blankets, set up between the perfectly kept church and imposing concrete structures that make up the industrial part.

The only protection the locals have from the wilderness is a bunch of mindless automatons. Such bullshit…

Many people in my situation would whine about the weight of responsibilities that accompany their task and, to some extent, they'd be right, it is kind of a pain to know one of the most powerful force the universe has known is under my control, but I get to eat tree meals a day, can do very wicked shit with just my brain and I'm about to have my whole slave army, so I wouldn't trade places with those poor bastard even if I could.

"_First building's a bottling plant for some energy drink ," _The gun's thoughts jerk me from my day dreaming, "_the next makes power cells and the last was refurbished to produce flashlights."_

Flashlights? "A flashlight factory?" That just doesn't sound right; why refurbish something to manufacture flashlights?

"_Lasguns, most people call them flashlights, because of their… Sub-optimal firepower…"_

Lasgun factory, huh? Imperial Guard must be getting ready to conscript locals… No one told me anything about that, but the town was marked yellow, so I guess no one will mind if I impede the mobilization effort. It's my swarm that'll be on the receiving end of those guns after all…

First things first, though, find the chemicals.

No need to rappel down or anything, my hardened bones, organs and muscles can easily sustain the drop from the eight meters high church roof.

I land with a roll just between a pair of crumbling shelters. Whoever's inside only get a glimpse at a shivering shape.

By the time anyone can look at what it was, I'm twelve meters further down the street and jumping over the industrial complex's electrified fence.

My left boot slips in the dirt upon landing and I end up in a half crouch, weapon trailed at a patrolling automaton that suddenly emanated from a door, tree meters ahead.

It looks left, ahead, right, ahead, left and ahead before backing away into the factory's darkness. A click tells me that door's locked, but it's not really a problem. Well, it wouldn't be if I intended to enter that way, which I don't.

"Think you can cut their power for five minutes?" I ask the laspistol.

"_What? You're the Psyker, handle yourself!"_

"Don't you have any kind of powers?" I fume, looking at the outlines of the pistol in my hand. Damn useless smartass piece of scrap…

"_Yeah; I make dead peoples."_ It groans as I begin climbing the wall trough use of my Psi blade, levitation and enhanced strength, "_ And I am about ten thousand years old, all of those years I spent on the battlefield, so if you'll listen to me from time to time, maybe you would be more appreciative of my presence…"_

This… would be a good argument if I wasn't certain it wants me dead.

Once on top, I keep my blade in one hand while aiming the pistol down range.

There are four blast furnaces lined up before me, two of them missing half their length, and the roof was repaired with large plates of bronze or something related…

"_Heh, this place has really been falling apart since the old man decided to just bum around on his throne…"_

"Shut up." Is the only appropriate answer.

"_Do I disturb your religious belief?"_

"No, you just get on my nerves."

I psi-jump on the edge of a damaged furnace and peek down.

"_No way…"_

"Way."

I step in the smoke and curl into a ball as I begin my descent down the burning shafts, protected by my Hostile Environment Suit and small psi-shield.

About three seconds go by before I hit something and whatever it is, I'm too heavy for it, as I rip right trough.

I spin in midair and land on my feet somewhere between a conveyer belt and a basin.

The bottles on the conveyer leave little doubt as to my current position; the bottling plant.

"Think we'll find mutagen agents in here?" I ask the pistol before ducking under the conveyer.

"_It's the Imperium; anything's possible."_

I'm about to get going when the huge metal cylinder filled with an ultra popular drink, to my right, give me an idea…

I practice a tiny incision with my psi knife near the top and the larvae on my back pumps a large quantity of Hyper-evolutionary virus in the thing.

Now, let's get a move on.

I'd like some kind of indication with 'Mutating Shit: This Way' but need to use logic instead, and although I have very good deduction capacities, the Imperium doesn't seem big on logic…

So, hazardous material used to grease gears, clean machinery and fuel stuff, where would I hide if I was one of those?

I send a psi-echo in the factory and analyze the feedback carefully; two conveyer belts working in parallel, catwalks all over the place, six small room on the other side of the room, clustered together along the northern wall. Offices?

I guess it's worth checking out…

There is a procession of servitors patrolling the central corridor, between the two conveyers, and they seem to have thermal imagery, so cloaking won't do shit.

I set one on fire and, while their thermals are still adjusting, jump across the hallway to slide under the second belt. There, I get back up in a blink and whip up my gun and knife, holding the firing hand with the slashing hand's wrist.

No one in sight. Lets check out the rooms.

First one contains only files and such. I could shuffle trough for an inventory, but I'm not really a crack chemist, so it wouldn't be much use…

Next one has maintenance tools and such, but also a few bottles of oil and grease…

I smell every bottle, but don't feel the sensation Kessler described, so I move on to the next one. Spare parts. Fuck.

Next room contains many bottles of many chemicals that shouldn't be anywhere near a population center, in my humble opinion, and sniffing them would be enough to send a normal man tripping for a looong time.

I'm not that lucky as the only effect it has on me, when it's not an urge to throw up, is a slight tingling that announces a winner.

It's a small metal can of blackish substance, not much of it, but enough to trigger a reaction, so I guess I'm taking it.

Kessler provided me with some sort of Zerg sample collection device, pretty much a larvae he mutated on the fly to act as a backpack. Knowing exactly what I need, the sampler extends its 'straw' over my shoulder and drink the liquid in ten seconds flat before stocking it in some internal sack.

Moving on…

The other rooms contain nothing but machinery, so I leap on a nearby catwalk, leading the concrete bridge that links this factory to the others.

I press my back against the wall, at the corner leading to the bridge, and peek in.

A servitor is guarding the thing, but a bit of technopathy and it sees the same image in a loop, so I just need to crouch-walk trough.

The next factory has the same layout and I repeat the same operation; burn a servitor, sprint across the room and hide behind the conveyer belt.

For this one I hit the jackpot; whatever substance they uses for their power cells, it triggers a reaction from my brain akin to a kid in a candy shop. Whole kegs full of mutagen vectors, barrels filled with radioactive wastes and chemical agents.

All six rooms are filled with those, too much for me to carry or even fit in my Wraith, so I take samples of everything and leave it there for… Wait, I don't really have to leave it…

I extend my consciousness to the whole town –not that wide an area- and begin reprogramming a few Servitors to work for me…not to kill everyone, but bring the chemicals close to my hive cluster then return to their duty. Just a slight tweak, something that'll appear as a random bug in their programming.

By the time they arrive, however, I'm already heading for the last factory.

I jump down a catwalk and land straight on the left conveyer belt, then roll off it and land in a crouch right next to the first 'supply closet'.

The Lasguns take a long time to be assembled, almost ten minutes a unit, but there's a healthy supply of them stacked in the storage rooms of this factory.

You know what I love about the Imperium's constant over the top attitude?

Self destruct function on their individual weapons.

I kneel next to the pile of weapons and tell all of them to go off in five minutes. They don't have a timer, so I establish a psi link between them and some servitor. It's a bit like an internet connection, except… well, okay, it's not really like it, but the concept is the same.

Then I climb the wall with my psi blade and slowly make my way to a half fixed hole in the ceiling.

It's too small for me to squeeze trough, but I psionically make the steel edges peel back like a wet sheet of paper and telekinetically jump trough.

This would have exerted an important strain on me, before, now it's just a little bothering…

I know Kerrigan had a PI of 12 before being zergified and that it played a great role in her ascension as queen bitch of the universe, but I really don't get how _anyone_ could have stood up to someone maybe three steps stronger than I am… I bring down Battlecruisers with my brain for crying out loud!

I sprint across the roof top and use levitation to glide over the twelve meters gap before repeating the process on the next roof.

Thirty-four meters separate me from the church, no way I can jump this, but I still try; leaping high in the air. Arms and legs spread wide. The air rushes around me and I float a good twenty meter above the street, slowly loosing altitude and soaring forward. Almost got it.

My gun laughs his ass out as I hang with a single hand from the edge of the roof.

A kinetic pulse gets me on the roof proper, where I can see the outlines of my Wraith waiting for me.

Well; next.

I spend the rest of the day and a bit of the next one doing this; stealing chemical from small towns and taking out any military support structures I come across. The larvae on my back soon growing the size of a Zergling.

This is a long and overall eventless task that I perform as if on auto-pilot. Most didn't even have security forces.

I'm flying back home for some chow and sleep when I get I get a warning from the Zerg part of my brain; the Zerglings, Kessler and the drones were engaged by a pack of small, black Ursadon-like wolves and are fighting back.

One of the wolves already had its face melted by the drones' combined efforts. Kessler swaps one it mid-flight, cutting clean trough before grabbing another wolf-like creature from over a Zergling with his frail arms and _tearing_ it in two like cardboard.

The Zergling rolls off the floor and leaps at a tree, using its many claws to stay in place. It observes the battlefield for a second, transmitting its knowledge to me and, by extension, to its brothers; five wolves remain now, circling around the Zerg convoy and looking for a weakness. One of them attempts to attack the second Zergling, but gets both attack claws stuck in its flanks.

The Zergling lifts the bigger predator off the floor, earning panicked whines, and then bite its head off before throwing the corpse away.

I wait a second for the wolves to grow nervous and give everyone the order to counter-attack.

Kessler reacts first, slithering forward before rising like a cobra, all weapons spread wide in challenge.

The wolves focus on him and he easily dodges most attacks while the drones and Zerglings flank the predators and cut them to pieces.

One Zergling was pretty badly wounded and Kessler has a few deep cuts, but they're Zerg, they'll heal soon enough. And we won. This feeling is unlike any I ever experienced. No I, no they, _we_ are the swarm and _we_ won.

"You did well, brothers," I congratulate, "Kessler, I have a lot of mutagens incoming…" I link him with the larvae on my back and earn a sinister laugh, "And the Imperium truly wonders why the mutant population is rising?"

Heh, yeah, it's pretty funny when you think about it… "Have you found anything?" I continue while ordering one of my new Overlord to go at the clearing I told the servitors to leave the barrels.

"Indeed, many plants here, if correctly altered, could aid me in my work."

"Think we could grow them in our hive cluster?"

He thinks about it for a few seconds before admitting it would be a first for the Zerg to actually cultivate something that isn't infested, but until we have the Evolution chamber, -Which is under way right now- we can't create new strains of individuals or structures. Once that's done, however, we might be able to whip up a structure that produces low level mutagens…

Great. I have one of the three drones still at home begin evolving into a Roach warren, as we'll need the big guns if there's any more wolves around here. Another one, I turn into a Spine crawler –I like creep colonies and all, but don't have the resources to create static defenses-.

As for the last one, I'm a bit short on minerals, but still have it start morphing into a Baneling nest, as I'm sure we'll have a steady supply of minerals long before our reserve is depleted… I hope so, anyway…

Finally, I have two larvae morph into drones. I'll have to think of some way to build structures without sacrificing drones… Maybe have them grow directly from the creep or something… The last larvae I turn into Zerglings to help escort the drones and protect the growing Vespene extractor.

In the distance, I can make out the tip of the hatchery, blending in with the trees, but not perfectly…

The heat it emits would give away our position on any ship's thermal imagery, except many trees in this forest give up even more heat, effectively protecting my hive cluster from prying eyes.

Once I touch down and leave the Starfighter, I am greeted by Kessler, eager to test the samples. He can't implement changes without the evolution chamber, but can still use his stock of DNA to make tests and run simulations, like I did on the computer, except once he's found a viable combination, all he'll have to do is to enter the genetic code into the evolution chamber and the changes will take effect immediately.

I give him the sampler and, knowing its task, the thing opens its rib cage to let him access to sacks.

"Excellent… Excellent, sir, this will allow us to create many new strains…" He whispers, half to me, half to himself, but since he's a part of me, I guess it doesn't change much…

Kessler know exactly what I want, he was made for this, so I tell him to get to work whenever he's ready and head for my root-cave for some shut eye.

As I walk, I bend over and grab a handful of creep. It tastes like… Well, like whatever I want it to taste, really, I'm the Overmind after all, so… Apparently, right now I want it to taste like chicken and, quite frankly, the living substance is much closer to the actual thing than any MRE I ever had…

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_**Stiletto **_

**01/13/00 **

**Braxis' orbit.**

**1010 hours **

Shaanis and Karen stood side by side in the airlock, a pair of Force Recon Marines flanking them.

One had an Impaler fitted with a Psi bayonet while the other carried a Heavy Gauss Rifle with an Imperial Bolter replica attached under the canon. The things didn't fire as fast or accurately as an Impaler, but packed much more punch and had been adopted as Impaler attachment or secondary weapon by most of the First Company.

When the bulkhead parted before them, Karen's first reaction was to wonder why there was a clown greeting them. The second was amusement at the two Power armored soldiers standing behind the clown; both were actually Stewarts and had been ordered to try and look menacing.

Next to the tall and slender… Clown… Stood a small and chubby man with a pretty flamboyant purple shirt that doubled as a cape. He also wore a tricorn hat, and that, in itself, was hilarious.

When he spoke, it became obvious he was the one who had contacted them back on the ship, yet was not the one in charge…

"My name is Siras, the master will meet you in a moment, please follow me."

The brightly dressed alien, Ilvian, from what little thoughts Worst could intercept, was an Eldar, a dying race of aliens a bit older than the Protoss…

They stepped trough, the two Terran Marines walking in perfect synchronicity with their boss and were led to an ornate door, just twenty meters further down that same corridor.

"Please step in. Your escort will have to wait outside, however, as the library is forbidden to Power Armored personnel, for obvious reasons…"

A simple nod on the Ghost's part and the Marines took positions on either side of the door.

The Commander and Librarian stepped in the dimly lit Library, admiring the finely decorated room.

Straight ahead was a fireplace illuminated of a dark red chemical flame, to their right, a wooden staircase led to a second level, this one filled with bookshelves, themselves packed tight with old and tired looking volumes.

To the left was a set of three leather lined armchairs, set in a demi circle.

An average sized man sat in one, dressed in jeans and leather, smoking a cigarette. He pulled on it and an unshaved face was revealed for a second.

"Well, you boys sure didn't waste time getting to work…" He laughed, batting some ash in an ashtray. The man radiated power and intellect, while retaining a rugged cowboy look. Both Revenants tried reading his mind and both were met with a metaphorical wall of Neosteel.

"Who are you?" Worst asked, taking a seat when the man offered her, "who are those friends you told us about?"

"Call me Eugene, as for the other question… Well, I'm afraid secrecy is one of their rare remaining assets and they wish to keep it that way, sorry."

Shaanis sat in the other chair, awkwardly, then spoke, "_What is it you want from us?"_

Eugene crushed his expended cigarette in the ashtray and leaned forward, his grizzled face now appearing in the light, revealing a few small scars and a longer one, under his right eye "I want nothing from you, man, just wanna help is all."

"Why?" Karen had enough cryptic bullshit, she wanted some fucking truth, even if it was only half formed ones.

The man smiled faintly at the outburst and nodded,

"Alright, let me cut the crap:

The Imperium, it was great once, real great. It helped resurrect the human race when the Xel'Naga played god again and without it, the galaxy would belong to the Hybrids…"

He rose from his seat and fetched another hand-rolled cigarette from a metal pack in his back pocket. Eugene offered one to Karen and she took it, then he lit the two sticks and continued, "Ever since the Emperor got outta the game, everythin's gotten corrupt, like the Dominion or the Confederacy, but spannin' the whole galaxy. Peoples support it 'cause they don't have a choice, its serve or die."

His eyes were now shining with sheer determination, "You guys will give them choice, you'll give 'em an alternative. May not be tomorrow, may not be with an army at your back, but you peoples are the key to clearing away the corruption and bringing this whole mess to an end…"

Both Revenants stared. "Just who are you?"

His voice got somewhat playful, "Well now, darlin', I think I said enough already, how 'bout you speak your piece? What's your plan for dealin' with the big bad evil empire?"

Shaanis and Worst made a quick mental exchange on what they should reveal or not, but ultimately decided that guy probably knew all there was to know already.

"_We are selling our services to them in exchange for resources and using these resources to read our force, so we can defend ourselves when they attempt to hit us."_

"Hmm, yeah, sound plan, but I'm afraid you have a few weeks top before they decide you're useless, then it's 'kneel or die'… And no matter how much Protoss tech you pack, they'll find and crush you in a month, top…"

Karen grinned, "We have a plan for that..." She was surprised he didn't ask about the recruits… Probably a don't ask don't tell situation…

He frowned and his voice hardened, "You can't plan with the Zerg, Commander; they don't follow any clean-cut agenda!" He calmed himself and sighed, "They're a force of destruction, but I'm sure you know this, so what kind of control do you have on them?"

How that guy could know about such a thing was completely beyond even Shaanis, so was the fact that he wouldn't know about Sven.

"The Spectre…"

"The dead one?"

"He's not dead, we made him the Overmind." She was about to explain what an Overmind was, but the guy seemed to know already.

"Oh…" A smile crept its way on his face, tugging at the corner of his lips, "Now, that's… Devious… Lady, I like your style. So, this guy controls the swarm, makes the Imperium decide to keep you around some more as a cheap and efficient force… And they practically mine the minerals you'll kill 'em with."

"Exactly, so, what do you bring to the table, Eugene?" Shaanis was now completely convinced they should bring this guy along, if only to find out where he had found all these information, but Karen didn't want to just accept right away…

"My navigation data, contact with every major races and access to any spaceport controlled by civilized peoples. How's that sound?"

"Like a deal."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:**

**Blackhole1:lol, thanks for the advise :D and I have no idea what you're talking bout :3**

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**Bakka Ecchi Kon: Thanks! Please tell me you meant day :S**

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**Carlo Gesualdo: Oh... That's right... Well I still do have difficulties sometimes and need to google a word or search for a synonym, but it happens less and less :D **

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**Kane: For the swarm, Kerrigan and the Protoss, finding out what happened to them will be part of the central plot.**

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**I wonder if you can resocialize an ork... Anyway, the Whaaag! isn't scheduled to arrive in the story just yet, but it'll come. Personally, I think human with ork weapons would be nice, although orks with C-14 Impaler rifles, CMC armors and Vulture bikes have just as much appeal... **

**As for how I can write a chapter a day... Unemployment, man, no job, the Army won't take me 'till I'm healed, so writing is all I have to keep me from going batshit.**

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**Zaku Unit 2.0: I'll have to look it up, but I'll probably include her if it doesn't break any canons...**

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**Hellraptor: That was insightful. So, what is it you didn't like?**

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**chaoscrafter008: Well, I figured I'd let them think they're fighting Chaos, since how little they know about it and that they happen to be battling Khornate soldiers...**

**And I can't remove the creep, it's part of the Zerg identity and is needed for them to grow and feed their buildings. As for the Ork spores, I have plans for those, don't you worry :D.**

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**Master of the Blood Wolves: Thanks :D And I guess you could put it that way :D**

* * *

><p><strong>Kudrenkov Brood's Hive cluster<strong>

**01/15/00 **

**Braxis**

**0610 hours **

I wake up to some sort of praying mantis, staring at me from where it is perched on my nose.

"Hi." I greet. Somehow, I feel related to the bug, given my status as Alpha bug.

It wiggles its antennas and fly off trough the entrance.

I crawl out of my sleeping bag, wearing green camo pants and boots, and check on my different units' advancement; the drone have mined the whole mineral deposit overnight and are now working on another vein, just under the first, the Overlord has stacked the mutagen barrels near the crates and began dropping creep all over the clearing to increase our nutrient influx and building zone. The Zerglings have hatched already, which is odd since there's still eighteen hours left.

Their premature birth is what woke me from my dreamless slumber, but I don't mind, I'm not tired. Sleeping is more of a way to pass time now…

"Kessler, why do I have two more Zerglings than I should?" The worm-like creature crawls away from the drone eggs, satisfaction radiating from him.

"I have found a way to synthesize Terrazine."

I'd be happier if he had found a way to produce Jorium, but Terrazine is nice too.

"How?"

He shows me the process by shared memories; first, he 'tasted' the sample I gave him to determine the chemical composition of the substance, then realized it was just Vespene with some enzyme, so he took some of the Spawning pool's goo and rewired it into the same enzyme as the one in Terrazine and the rest was just getting the dosage right.

Nice, but what the fuck does it have to do with Zerglings?

He explains that trough the use of Terrazine, it is possible for us to dramatically speed up the hatching of most basic species, all depending on the amount of Vespene gas we want to sacrifice, but that things above Hydralisks may not be sped up that much given their genetic complexity, ten or twenty percent reduced mutation time is the best we can achieve.

So, I can pay a bonus to speed stuff along… Sounds like some online RTS game…

"Alright, we'll split drone, Zergling and Hydralisk gestation time by half from now on." I instruct, knowing instinctively that anything else wouldn't be very cost effective and that before he can implement such a change, we'll have to wait for the evolution chamber. He'll still manually inject the eggs now and then, but it won't do once we have a whole brood to take care of.

"How's your garden coming?" I ask, watching with amusement as the Zerg takes a disgusted air.

"Quite well, the creep is a fertile ground... to friends of the swarm. These plants, coupled with the large amount of chemicals you brought back will allow us to immediately implement any changes you desire… Once we have access to an Evolution chamber, that it…"

Yeah, yeah, it's coming alright, a day left, at most.

"What is today's plan?" The Advisor asks me, eager to get to work.

I take a look around us. First, we now have enough resources to turn the hatchery into something bigger, so I give it the go and it curls into a pulsing cocoon.

Next up is the clearing itself. I didn't want to let the creep attack the trees for protection reasons, but maybe Kessler and I can get the creep to form walls of its own…

I tell that to the big slug, who hesitates, "It would be feasible, but costly."

Hmm, I don't need it to tap in our OR3 reserves, just create some physical barrier between us and the jungle… Ah fuck this, I'll just build a lumber barricade and cover it with hardened creep. Easy and effective.

So, I set off with one of the drones, leaving Kessler with instructions to make me a Lieutenant prototype, now that we have access to queen DNA and mutagens, and initiate the task cutting the trees on the far side of the clearing.

We cut about fifty of the things, letting them fall in the creep where they are slowly shaped to a perfectly cylindrical shape, before the sun reaches its zenith, which means it's about four o'clock aboard the _Revenant_.

Once the things are shaped accordingly, the drone cuts them in four meters long sections that I easily hold up for the two minutes it takes the creep to secure it. I grab another and set it next to the first, but don't have to wait for too long, as the living substance immediately spreads from the first to the second… I repeat the process until we have a real, slightly curved, wall of living substance protecting that flank. I repeat that process until we have a wall running all around the hive cluster and only stop working on add-ons such as spikes and pits when the Evolution chamber finally hatch, telling me I've been at it for at least two days.

Doesn't matter, I'm not tired.

As soon as the thing is done, Kessler, unable to contain his enthusiasm, sends me a myriad of information and ideas; Paratrooper Zerglings, Tyrannosaur/Hydralisk creature and so on… I say yes to the first two and hang on until you're done for everything else.

This comes at the same time as the Roach warren, so I make a pair of larvae morph into Roaches and the other one, I morph to Zerglings.

Once the Lieutenant has hatched –any second now-, and the roaches are ready –six hours from now- I'll have a force of six Zerglings, one 'queen', two roaches and nine drones…

I see a scorpion like creature unburrow from behind the creep covered tent and crawl its way to the eastern part, where the root cave is located.

…and a spine crawler. A few additional Zerglings should do the trick and let me raid the green town.

I led a recon on the place earlier this week while checking for chemicals; it's a refugee camp, very crowded. A hit there is bound to be a massacre and if I let a couple of peoples get away, the Imperium should come check it out and, by then, I'll have Banelings waiting for them all over the fucking place.

That oughta wake them up… Of course, they'll search the forest for whatever attacked them, but I'm about a hundred kilometers away from it, so I doubt they'll find me.

Then, I feel a surge of intelligence and, just as with Kessler's birth, manage to think a lot more clearly, as if I were a computer and someone had just given me a memory upgrade.

The Lieutenant emerges from her cocoon and spread her arm and claws in the dwindling sunlight, looking gloriously powerful in the dying rays.

"Welcome to the swarm, soldier, I'm Sven." I introduce myself, before bringing up Kessler's image, "This is Kessler, my science Advisor."

"It is a privilege, Overmind…" her soft voice utters, humble yet ferocious. "How may I serve the Swarm?"

The fact that they can talk is actually the result of a translation that my brain does, for simplicity sake, something I believe Kerrigan implemented…

I observe the creature before me. It looks like an insect, a woman and a shellfish at the same time, having the abdomen of an insect, the torso of a woman, the head of a real fucking nightmare and a shrimp's tail, the whole covered in pinkish carapace.

"If you succeed in the upcoming mission, you will be my second in command, act as an additional brain on the battlefield, offer me some insight, keep me posted on the tactical situation, this sort of things; you think you can handle it?"

"Yes, Overmind…" She bows her head.

"And call me Sven. Now, as you already know, all sentient in this Swarm gets names, which one do you like?"

She thinks about it for a moment, then finds an answer; "Shiva."

The goddess of destruction… Hope she lives up to her namesake.

I get a flash of information about the Queens, on the basis of which the Lieutenant was created, from Kessler. We already have all the evolutions of the previous Swarms, so she has full control of her abilities already.

The only difference between the Queens and Lieutenants is the way they were programmed to think. Kerrigan thought the strongest were meant to rule and programmed the Zerg to think that way; I think every piece has its place and defined task and that only the best adapted should rule. No internal fighting, everyone has a role to play and no one is above the rest. We all serve the Swarm, in the end.

Two larvae crawl out of the large organic mess that is the future Lair and I turn them into Zergling egg and Roach egg, respectively.

I'll have eleven Zerglings and three Roaches for this raid, apparently. Now, I'll need a rifle for this, so I call the _Revenant_ and request a supply drop with a C-10 or a BOSUN rifle.

About an hour later, I receive eight crates filled with every kind of weapon the Rev can produce; Flak pistols, slugthrower, AGR-14, the whole deal.

I pick up a C-10 along with a silencer AGR and four clips for each, filling my two cargo pockets with mags.

"_Is this a joke, man? I can melt trough bulkheads and you pick these slug throwers? I'm hurt!"_

The pistol doesn't approve, so I retort that he doesn't have a scope and he just sneer.

The next five hours, I spend cleaning up and preparing my weapons.

Once the eggs have all hatched and I have my troops packed in two Overlords, I slip on a kaki t-shirt, grab the larvae/sampler/Zerg backpack/Virus container, strap both rifles on my back and grab one of these tentacles things hanging from the Overlord's belly.

Climbing the thing poses no problem, despite the fact I'm not wearing my HES armor; my Zerg enhance muscles seem capable of pulling many times my own weight without a problem and I soon slip in the ventral sack, along with four Zerglings and two Roaches.

No light enter the inflated sack and the only sound I can hear is the Overlord's heartbeats, but it's not oppressive nor even worrying, I just feel calm and bored, as I'll have to wait an hour before we reach the target. This place looks like the inside of a balloon, really…

One of the Zerglings is chasing its tail in excitment, two of them are wrestling each others with their attack claws folded and the Roaches are banging against each others like bulls.

Last Zergling is the one that hung itself on the tree, the oldest and smartest of the bunch, it is a little bigger than the others and instead of getting its adrenaline levels up for the fight, it is lowering its natural aggression, otherwise it won't be able to think clearly on the ground…

It's still feral, but is getting smarter, thanks to Kessler introducing a bit of Terrazine into the whole Swarm's biology. The former Zerglings variant grew smarter as well, never making the same mistake twice thanks to the hive mind, but not on an individual level, the new version, and that of any other species of the swarm, will learn and specialize constantly to the point of semi-sentience for the of them. Or so Kessler hopes.

Full sentience is useless, it will make them hesitant and less effective, but a few steps under that would allow them to use pack hunting strategies and to actually remain loyal to the Swarm even if the psionic link with the hive is broken.

I heard many peoples speaking of the Swarm in my time and, I must admit, back then it made me feel ashamed of my own weakness, but now I must admit thinking about their potential gives me goosebumps… As I sit, cross legged in the ventral sack of an Ovrelord, I hear these voices in my head:

_"The Zerg are coming. The Zerg are nature in all her fury. Nature doesn't just adapt. Nature cheats, changes the rules, and slips out the back door with your wallet while you're still trying to figure out what the hell happened."_

"_Nothing can prepare you for the sheer animal terror that hits you when these monsters attack. The speed. The savagery. I've seen hundreds of Zerg since that time, but the first attack still haunts me. Always will."_

_"I used to think that defeating the Zerg would take precise military maneuvers, clever tactics and strong leadership. I was wrong. You can't out-think the swarm, you can't out-maneuver the swarm, and you certainly can't break the morale of the swarm. I hate to admit this, but I could do my job just as well if I ordered all my men to simply shoot anything that moves."_

The Overlord stops over a tall tree, four hundred meters south of the refugee camp, and I squeeze trough the lips of the sack.

Talk about a near-birth experience…

I fast-rope down using a tentacle as rope and soon break trough the canopy.

I reach the end of the tentacle and drop the remaining twenty meters to my future sniper position. I psionically cushion my fall and touch down on the meter thick branch.

From there, the Overlord makes its way north, keeping just above the canopy.

I put my back to the tree trunk and psychically burn a hole trough the thick foliage, giving me a clear shot at the overcrowded camp.

I peek trough my C-10 scope and count the amount of peoples there with an actual weapon…

About a dozen of kids armed with lasguns, twice that number of civies equipped with slug throwers and one guy with a chainsaw and sword's bastard child.

I could pick out the guards before the two Overlords arrive, but I want to keep my involvement minimal for now, as sniper fire would give away the fact we're not just feral animals…

There are two thousands peoples in this tiny, one hundred per one hundred meters fenced camp. Some live it tents, others on the dirt and there's a large pile of corpses just outside. Sickness or starvation, I can't tell, but they're slowly dying away here; children, old, men women, they're all fucking dead already and they don't even know it.

I'll just speed along the process of natural selection; those who manage to make it out, I won't hunt down, those who don't, however, will either get dismembered or infested.

"Shiva." I call out to my second.

"Sir?"

"There are children in there, will this pose a problem?"

Queens are naturally maternal creatures and this one is a lot less focused on mindless slaughter, so I must check first.

"None, sir."

Good…

I lower the C-10 and change to a more comfortable position, with both legs on the trunk instead of straddling it. Ahead, the Sampler is using its frog-like spike tongue to infest a squirrel. Random…

The Overlords are now dropping the troops just outside the jungle, in plain sight to the guards and refugees alike. They'd like to run, but there's only one gate and the Zerg are dropping in front of it.

One after the other, the lasgun bearers explode in tiny mushroom clouds as I psionically trigger their weapons' self destruction. Normally, I would need to be much closer, but it seems that the Zerg Psi amplifier doesn't just allow me to contact my forces at greater range…

With each explosion, at least a dozen civilians get severely burned, maimed or, with some luck, killed. One heck of a wake up call.

Six Zerglings arrive at the gate first and quickly rip trough the razor wire.

A pair of boys with slug throwers, about fifteen and twelve respectively, takes pot shot at the dog sized creatures, but can't penetrate their hardened carapace, so the Zerglings simply spread out and begin hacking the fleeing civvies

Two roaches arrive behind the Zerglings and quickly _melt_ trough the two armed kids before holding their ground to spray the area like sprinklers and preventing anyone from leaving trough the gate. Their barbed wire fortress just became their cage.

Driven by their preservation instinct, about a hundred civvies try to get away from the advancing monstrosities by climbing the razor wires, which quickly grows covered in blood.

The Zerglings in the camp continue to sweep trough the tents, keeping a loose delta formation and killing anything on sight. No one can see them coming before they are

Those who managed to climb up the fence, their flesh thorn and bloodied, are now running trough the thirty meters between the camp and the jungle, to the north. Bad move, they should run East or West…

Having predicted that move, Shiva emerges from the trees, huge and terrifying in the night's darkness, and begin hurling spikes in the mass of terrified peoples. Each spike is capable of piercing two centimeters of Neosteel from three hundred meters away, so they go right trough the crowd, killing and maiming at least three people with each salvo.

The panicked refugees try to retreat back to camp, but five Zerglings and a Roach have emerged from the ground and are now ripping trough the peoples at the rear and flanks.

About twenty out of the hundred manage to reach the jungle and, of those, maybe two will see the sun rise tomorrow, seeing as none packed weapons or anything, the jungle will kill most without any involvement on my part.

The militia finally get its act together and the twenty armed guys form a phalanx near a prefab structure, most likely the command center or hospital… I warn Shiva and she has the Zerglings avoid that area entirely while the Roaches tunnel their way to the phalanx's flanks.

Shiva quickly takes their place at the gate, massacring at least two dozens of poor bastards who attempted to get trough at that moment. Almost fifty peoples did manage to get trough, however.

Peoples are hard to kill, Terrans, Earth born, fact is, humans are the species with the strongest survival instinct even. We're not strong, we're not fast, but we _stay_ _alive_. Thus, I expect this assault to take out barely five hundred peoples, maybe a little less.

The Imperials in the phalanx, taking occasional pot shots at whatever doesn't seem human, won't be amongst the survivors, however…

Roaches emerge on either sides of the formation and make short work of the unarmored militia. To their credits, these guys did manage to hurt one of the Zerg, however, but it's just a scratch and its advanced biology is already fixing the hole.

Once they are no more than a pile of goo on the dirt, Shiva sends them in the south-east corner where refugees are massing, about to bring down the fence.

The arrival of the three acid spitting Zerg causes hysteria to spread trough the crowd and the fence quickly collapses under the human waves. Knowing better that to send her Zerglings to cut off the massive crowd, Shiva chases them until they reach the jungle.

Almost a thousand peoples made it out that way, but more than a hundred died.

The Zerg soon siege the prefab structure, banging on the heavy steel gates, and I mentally survey the thing. It's actually a field hospital, held by local healers and assisted by an Adepta Sororitas mission.

Most have gone to other camps, but there is one left in this hospital, along with two dozens of children.

And she's a telepath, although not really powerful; I'd rate her natural Psi Index to five or six.

Actually her powers feel more like a Protoss', being drawn from an outside source… An extremely powerful psychic, I think.

In any case, she's not drawing them from the Warp, that much I'm sure of, and her powers are strong enough for me to try something on her.

"Shiva, there is someone in there I need…" I send her the psi signature of the Sororita and she gets to work, ripping the gates open and…

Oh… Damn.

The Lieutenant's head is cleaved in half by a chainsword and a silver haired woman, clad in power armor, exits the structure, bolt pistol in one hand, chainsword in the other. A Zergling has its face blown away before I can tell the rest to burrow and wait for me.

I'm fifty meters above ground, but the branches for a natural ramp, so strapping me gear in place, I jump from my perch and land five meters bellow on a slightly smaller branch, before jumping again until I find myself four meters above ground, at which I just step off.

The hundreds of meters between the camp and I fly by in a blur as I sprint trough the jungle.

I enter the camp by the hole in the fence, passing by wounded and confused refugees who shoot me bewildered looks.

"Run for your life!" One of them suggests and he rushes past me. Yeah, right, I'll do that.

A few more peoples comment on how insane I am to be heading that way, but there's fewer the further I advance in the camp, until, finally, the only human being standing are the space Nun and me.

She's shooting bolts at a spot in the ground where a Roach is hiding. Pointless; even if the rounds made it trough the sand, I doubt they'd carry enough punch to kill the heavily armored Zerg.

She does give it one heck of a headache, however…

I read her mind and learn her name, Atella Tedt, her rank as a Battle Sister, despite the fact she's for thee Order Hospitaller, and the fact she can feel my presence and that, unlike most peoples, the unease I cause makes he want to kill me, instead of fear me.

The armored woman spins on the spot and squeeze the trigger on her Bolt gun twice.

Two dry clicks make her believe she's out of ammo, when in fact I just jammed her gun. She keeps pressing and calling for the Emperor's help. She's getting it, alright, trough the use of her own psi powers. Fact remain, she's nowhere near as strong as I am. That psychic backing her up doesn't seem to realize she needs more juice and that's just as well, because then, she'd kick my ass.

"How about you make this easy on both of us and list…"

The bolt pistol hits me in the face, just over the right eyebrow. "Suit yourself."

The armored woman revs her sword and I pick a twig from the floor, dropping in a combat stance, shouting "En guarde!" with an acceptable imitation of a french accent.

I can hear her think I'm totally insane.

"Not epic enough for you? Alright…"

I raise my right hand and in a Darth Vador-like gesture, lift Atella off the floor and cut her oxygen supply.

She writhe and chokes out prayers for almost two minutes, then, before passing out, throws her chainsword at me and I block it, so _in enxtremis _I can now say I survived catching a chainsaw with my face and got away with a scratch.

Once she's passed out, I call in the Overlords and have the remaining Zerg forces regroup on my formation. One of the roach wants to attack the kids looking trough the hospital's door, but our job here is done, more killing would be pointless and a waste of our time.

The creature falls in line and we get pulled up by tentacles, along with the unconscious Imperial.

I tell Kessler about my idea and he excitedly answer that everything will be ready by the time I get back. Well, I feel excitement from our link, but his telepathic voice is cold and leveled as always.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I hope you guys won't mind Sven turning out to be a stone cold killer, he's a Spectre and the Overmind after all, but I'll try to keep him... Uhm... I'd say Morally redeemable, but it doesn't fit the situation much... Let's just say pure fucking meanness will never be his motivation :D**

**Hideout Writer: Thanks ^^ I know I should get a beta reader, but I want to keep uploading in time, so...**

**Kane: She's a Sister of Battle, they're psychic who take their power from the Emperor directly instead of the Warp.**

**I'll work on a base at some point, just not now, they need to find the spot first...**

**As for the other questions, they will be answered in time.**

**Zaku Units 2.0: You're right, on every accounts :P**

**Master of the Blood Wolves: Thanks :) I really just wanted to portray him as another guy, making his way trough the universe and ready to do whatever it takes to survive...**

**chaoscrafter008: Oh, but there are ways for the Zerg to hide their creep, but then they loose a good part of the bonus it gives. I can't let them have everything or it's gonna be Mary Sue police flaming time... As for the rest, can't say :3**

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><p>I look at the now naked telepath, floating in the jelly inside the pinkish chrysalis. She's curled into a ball and the chrysalis is slowly growing opaque. A lone string is protruding from it, feeding on the creep around it and absorbing nutrients.<p>

I turn to Kessler. "You sure she won't turn on us?" I'd hate to sic an abomination like Kerrigan on myself.

"Absolutely, and even if she somehow rebelled, as the Overmind, you could dissipate her mind and her body would be habitable by another entity." I know that, I just need to be sure.

"How long?" The slug hesitates, trying to come up with a correct approximation and failing.

"I do not know. With a hive, we would have enough knowledge to say for certain, but I am merely using the Queen of Blades' genetic code to improve her."

The chrysalis finally darkens and I have a drone pick it up with two Roaches acting as bodyguards.

The Lair should be done in a few hours and, from there, we'll truly get started; we'll have the genetic information to build Infestor pits, Hydralisk Dens, Spires and, most importantly, Nydus networks. This'll allow us to raid even the most distant towns, retreat near instantly and produce high tier combat forms. I wonder if I have access to anything of Space Marine level…

A look at the chrysalis makes me grin. I will soon enough.

0

0

0

**Refugee Camp Godfrey**

**Three days latter**

**002.M42**

Brother Sergeant Khadeus stepped off his perch on the Imperial Guard Chimera. Whoever designed these Power Armors didn't expect the wearers to ride around on top of a Guard troop transport… The man was glad he had not vowed to feel no pain because his back was killing him at that moment, yet the Sergeant had seen worst, like, but not limited to, loosing an eye and being impaled on a very pointy rock, after an hiking accident on Ultramar.

Behind him, sixteen guardsmen and four Astartes were forming a perfect line and aiming their weapons down range.

The camp, however, was motionless, eerily silent and ravaged. No corpses could be seen, but there was plenty of blood; on the shredded tent, on the trampled ground and all over the razor wires.

Brother Galvin, the sharpshooter and best tracker, kneeled and inspected the ground.

"Animals." He called, "Ripped trough the gate and slaughtered everyone."

He followed the tracks, whatever hadn't been walked on, anyway, and kneeled again twenty meters further.

"Three of them stood here," He motioned around, "Two different species… They were keeping the refugees penned in while the others advanced in the camp. Smart critters… Too smart."

This sort of tactic suggested the refugees had been killed as enemies, not as food, but why take away the corpses, then?

Galvin attempted to use his thermal vision, but the sun was high in the sky and the sand reflected too much heat to see anything.

The sniper felt unease crawl in his centuries honed guts and slowly stepped back to the line, gun aimed at the desolated camp.

"Ambush?" Tador, the heavy weapon specialist, hefted his Heavy Bolter with anticipation at Galvin's nod.

Some of the Guardsmen dropped to a knee, hoping not to attract the attention of potential snipers.

"help me!" The voice came from behind them, twisted and raspy.

Everyone spun in time to see a child, a huge green pustule protruding from his left cheek and his right eye swelled and green too.

The boy had some kind of tentacle protruding from the right sleeve of hiss too large shirt.

A guardsman uttered a prayer and another one approached the sobbing child.

"Are you okay?" The child looked up, his eyes shining blood red.

"Never been better." He leapt at the man, who attempted to dodge the attack and would have succeeded, had it been an actual attempt at slashing him.

Instead, his right side got atomized and his scorched left was thrown against the Chimera transport with a wet sound.

No one else was in sight, but the Astartes could hear something moving in the camp, so they spun again and were faced with a horde worthy of a Gellar field failure.

There was a second of hesitation as both forces observed each others, then a single word was uttered by Khadeus: "Fire."

His Bolter tore trough the passes with ease, tearing limbs off and causing bodies to explode in a bloody mess, yet the swarm did not flinch. It rushed to meet them instead and, a second latter the Guardsmen were opening fire.

Most of these peoples still looked human and had only grown claws and such appendages, but others looked like nothing but walking ground meat with green pustules protruding from their skin.

The gunners on the Chimeras opened fire over the heads of their comrades, helping keep the tides of monstrosities away from the lines.

Galvin quickly took to shooting the green ones, as the resulting explosion and spray of acid would dispatch a lot of the incoming horde.

He lined the shots and squeezed the trigger, relishing the way these foes went down. It was gratifying to see such results after every shot.

His advanced hearing warned the Astarte to something else creeping behind the formation and he spun, in time to witness their troop transports melting from the inside and their gunners crawling out of the turrets as their legs were slowly eaten away by acid.

Where were these monstrosities coming from!

He surveyed the whole southern area, but his developed hunter instincts could not pinpoint where they could possibly be emanating from.

Following a sudden hunch, the sniper tossed a grenade four meters further and watched as it detonated.

The explosion was so impressive it knocked quite a few guards off their feet and caused the mass of wretched creatures to scatter and disappear in the ruins.

The situation was evolving.

"Squad, report!" Khadeus barked, his Boltgun held ready.

"Galvin, reporting."

"Tador here, I stand ready."

"Avros, clear."

The Astarte Sergeant turned to the Commissar, an old grizzly of a man, and ordered him and his men to hold this entrance and the nearby breach.

"No one comes in nothing gets out until we have purged this place." His thundering voice decreed.

"Yes, my lord…" the Commisar saluted and started giving orders to the Guards. They were afraid of the creatures, but feared the Commissar much more so they took position and the God-Emperor himself wouldn't make them budge until the old graying man told them to.

All four Marines decided to fan out but stay within eye distance of each others, something easily done, seeing as they were taller than most tents.

This, however, also meant they had to be careful, for the enemy could see them coming.

Galvin stepped trough a tent, crushing wooden poles and ripping fabric without taking his eye away from his scope.

The tent were disposes sloppily all over the place and he was having difficulties deciding where the optimal ambush point would be.

In the end, he figured if these things could hide underground, then the ambush would take place ten steps further, on a roughly rectangular patch of sand surrounded by food and supply crates. A death trap for someone caught off guard, as there were three pile of crates, forming an upside down triangle into which Galvin stepped from the tip, slinging his scoped rifle to switch for the Bolt pistol and sword at his hip.

As expected, three creatures exploded from the ground and rushed him. The Space Marine shot the green one first, causing an explosion very close to that of an overloaded lasgun, except with an extra of acid, then spun and downed the other two with a single swipe of his Gladius.

Another wave came soon after, counting about twenty monsters. None so much as scraped the Ultramarine's armor.

Around him, his brothers were faring just as well and Galvin had to duck under Tador's frantic firing.

This man liked seeing mutants explode a lot more than he should have, but hey, at least he was passionate about his work!

The squad kept advancing until they reached the central structure of the camp, the hospital.

"Throne, is this a Tyranid?" Tador wondered, looking at the bug-like corpse, rotting away in front of the destroyed gate of the field hospital.

"I doubt it," Khadeus answered, inspecting the corpse, "Most likely Chaos…"

"Foul thing." Was Avros' only reaction.

The Sergeant gave a single hand signal and the squad got in breaching position with Avros and Galvin on the right and Tador and Khadeus on the left. A nod from the Sergeant and they all entered the room, he and Avros advancing while the other two watched their corners.

The room was filled with abandoned beds and blood. Severed limbs were black with flies and none of the Marines could tell if they were the result of the healing efforts or the attack.

Khadeus regretted not wearing his helmet.

At the back of the place, a girl, in her late teens, was humming a tune.

She had her back to the squad, but looked normal enough, so Khadeus motioned to Galvin to keep her in his sight before ordering her to identify herself.

She kept humming, more to herself than anyone else. The words were choked out, like she was crying.

"Life or death

No in between?

Hold your breath

It is coming

Of steel or flesh

The soulless will fall

The Phantom will fail

Ghosts of the past

Or Spectres of today?

Pray as you may

All shall bow

All shall weep

Sons of the gods

Firstborn and rebellious last…"

"Who are you!" The Astarte boomed, having enough of that gibberish.

The girl actually to looked at him from the corner of her eyes, burning blue instead of red. Galvin would have fired, only her next words made him pause.

"Heed my warning

Sons of Guilliman

Despite what faith demands

In your hands lay salvation

Choose wisely, warriors

Humanity or orders?"

Her eyes switched to red and she fully turned, screaming in feral fury as her jaw opened wider than any human could, her jawbone dislocating and the flesh of her cheeks tearing.

Her head exploded, replaced by a trail of smoke, and Galvin watched as the body fell to the floor.

He had heard the same words once, but could not remember where. His brothers searched the place for other enemies and, finding none, decided to leave and finish purging the camp.

Galvin ran the song trough his head twice before following, pushing the distraction to the back of his mind to be analyzed at a letter time.

0

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0

**Kudrenkov Brood's Hive cluster**

**01/18/00**

**Braxis**

**0802 hours**

I dream. It's been a while.

An old man is standing in front of me, his face burnt and deeply marked by chemicals and hard work. He's missing his left eye and wearing an eye patch. He lost that eye working for the Kel-Morians mining corps.

His gray-black goatee and thick eyebrows give him a biker's look, but his eyes are soft and wise.

"Hello son," He greets. We're home; in one of these large corn fields he was so proud of, "you've grown."

"His, dad… You're dead."

The old man laugh bitterly, "Only ever regretted never getting to know my son."

His eyes are sad and I understand exactly why.

"You remember what I told you, when I died?"

I try to remember, I try hard, but can't. "No."

"I told you that I'd always be proud of you, that a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do and that, in life, all that truly matters is that you do what must be done."

I remember now. Looks a lot like my own resolution.

"I love you son, always will, but I can't be proud of you, not after what you've done, I wish I could say I was, that you did the right thing, but you're doing exactly what I said you shouldn't."

"What? But I'm on the good side, fighting for the right cause!"

"Obviously you don't think so, kiddo, because I wouldn't be there if you thought so."

I frown at the logic. Yeah, seeing a dead man in my dreams, telling me how what I did was wrong probably says something about my current state of mind…

"You've been given power, son, more than most people ever will in a life time." He puts his hand on my shoulder and I wake up, still hearing his voice, "Make a difference."

I crawl out of my cave and check out the hive cluster. In three days, we've spawned three Hydralisks, six Zerglings, with one Infestor and four drones on the way, to replace those that have been turned into structures.

Oh, and I somehow got half my Overlords to evolve into something called Overseers, who can spawn Changelings on a minutes' notice. I asked Kessler if it was possible to increase Changelings life spam trough use of Terrazine and he just laughed, so I guess not.

I walk up to the creep covered tent containing most of my equipment and look at the hologram.

There is seven dots now, five are yellow, one is red and one is green.

The green one is an Imperial Guard motor pool, held by Adeptus Mechnicus or something like that. Somehow, when I infiltrated the place earlier, I realized technopathy didn't work around these guys, they seem to install solid firewalls on everything with their voodoo incantations and incense burning, so if I send in the Swarm, I won't be able to assist them like I did earlier.

I need more troops. Mostly considering the Catachan squads assigned to defend the motor pool face Hydralisk-level monsters on a daily basis since their birth and eat them for breakfast. They like their meat extra crispy with lasgun fire, but occasionally enjoy it raw from choking the thing to death with their bare hands.

I look at the prototype egg, near the Evolution chamber, then to the Chrysalis, both are the size of a Vulture hoverbike and, for a second, I am confused as which is which. I finally walk up to the one near the chamber.

"Kessler," I ask the Advisor, who's tending the black egg, "What the fuck is that?"

His pride is palpable, "I learned a lot trough your memories, especially about these 'Dinosaur' creatures you were fascinated about as a child, and I thought the overall design of these creature, while not as stable as a four or six legged warrior, had potential as a fast assault unit."

I get a flash from the Hydralisk/T-rex hybrid he thought up earlier and can't fight a grin, "How long?"

"Tomorrow."

Well in the meantime, we produce four Paratrooper Zerglings and have a Nydus worm try and spit them as far as possible from the middle of the hive cluster.

The first 'ling enters the Nydus canal entrance –the worm's equivalent of a butthole- and thirty seconds later, the gigantic worm's head erupts from the far end of the clearing.

It hocks and chokes for a second, then vomits the small Zerg high in the air.

The 'ling soon becomes little more that a spinning black dot against the blue of the sky.

The thing twists around like a cat to straighten itself, with little success at first, but as soon as it begins its descent, the laws of aerodynamic take over and the Zergling begins gliding, the wind catching its large wings and holding it in the air.

It instinctively knows what to do from this point and I can feel the delight in the creature as it steers right, then left, slowly descending on the camp like a fallen leaf.

Everything is alright until the landing; it crashes on the creep and do a few impressive bounds and rolls before finally stumbling to a stop, stunned but unharmed.

Kessler says they'll evolve a solution on themselves over time, not on an individual level, but… Well, the concept is pretty complicated; one individual's DNA will speak to another individual DNA, so that any tiny mutations caused by the environmental hazards will be shared by the whole population and transmitted to the hive, which will create the future versions with that same genetic marker, so when the new generation meets that same problem, they'll evolve another solution that will be transmitted to the hive, and so on until one mutation manages to overcome the problem.

Most species do this on the span of centuries, millenniums, even. Zerg do it in weeks.

That's how Banelings were created, amongst others.

Speaking of which… I make four of the regular Zerglings morph into Banes, to serve as anti-bunker measures.

The Nydus worm spits another Zergling, with the same result as last time. Poor things aren't done suffering for the cause yet.

I intend to have a pair of Changeling sneak in and take control of the biggest tank they can find, then attract the defenders' attention while the Banelings take out the four lookout towers, located at every corners, then I'll send in the Zerglings, supported by the Hydras with the prototype leading the assault while the Queen of Blades knockoff, some Roaches, a Corruptor and two Mutalisks flank the defenders and take out any tank they manage to field.

The Queens we created after Shivas' failure will stay here and protect the hive, along with the Spine Crawler.

I wonder what we should call the prototype. It's very loosely based on the T-rex and anything starting with Tyra is just too corny. Theropod? Nah…

According to Kessler's 'Genetic Imagery', his ability to see what something looks like by tasting its DNA, this thing will have short horns over the eyebrows and on the nose, a crest protecting their neck, single scythe-like claws on both feet, tiny spikes along their backs and a pair of oversized scythes on their arms. In theory, Kessler made them using extremely mutated Slothien DNA, so they are just an evolution of the Hydralisk, only ten meters tall and twenty-two meters long.

I can't wait to see the guardsmen's faces when they see it, although I think future models will be made smaller, faster and more teamwork based, like Dromaeosauridae genus species or wolves.

I've seen a few memories about something called Titans, it's all fuzzy, since they're just parasite information, but if they're correct, the Imperium has access to combat walkers that make Thors look like toys…

I think it's a retarded concept.

Why use a thousand foot tall fire spitting bullet magnet when you can build a hundred tanks with as much material and ensure more survivability?

Of course, Titans are powerful against clusters and other Titans and if I intend to go toe to toe with one of those, I'll need something the size of a Leviathan.

That would be a retarded concept too.

I'm a Spectre, and I was a Ghost before that, which means I've been training in the art of war since I was seven, not only that, but my status as the Overmind gives me access to the processing power of the whole Swarm. All of this goes against going toe to toe with an Imperial Titan, on account of a single, extremely simple rule; if you're in a fair fight, you didn't plan it properly.

I intend to use Deinonychus-inspired pack techniques against the walkers, like the small Dromaeosauridae, the powerful but slow weapons of the machines should be pretty useless against a scattered pack of smaller and faster foes. Then, once their close, the pack can just jump on their victim and claw away at it until they break something important.

While we wait for the force to be ready, I ask Kessler what his take on the situation is.

"Well, Sven," He ponders, knowing full well I have no intention of just killing him and the others, "I doubt the Imperium will take much time trying to find us and then, I cannot see us standing up to them directly… I am no strategist, that is your role, but I would arrange some form of contingency plan, in the eventuality they launch an assault on the hive."

Hmm… Contingency… I could whip something up… A secondary base, hidden forces and such…

Nah, this is a good idea and I will send some forces to hide in the depleted mineral vein as soon as I have spares, but that's step two, step one is to find out how they will actually get rid of me…

Bombardment? Nuke? They won't go for quiet assassination for sure, since they'll want to kill the whole hive in one shot…

The only option I see would be to roast me from orbit… Maybe I should build a carapace dome around the base? Damn, couldn't even build walls and that's all really just theory, I'm sure Karen has planned for that.

I get a flash of the Roaches' carapace, and how the dirt was protecting that one Zerg at the refugee camp from even the terrifying punch of a Boltgun.

I turn back to Kessler.

"We need to hide the hive underground. Think we can do it?"

The Advisor bobs back and forth, "It will take a long time and much resources, but we can fold the hive cluster into a single entity and have it burrow."

I disposes everything in the hive around the Lair; Hydralisk den to the south, evolution chamber to the south-east, Baneling nest to the east, spawning pool to the north-east, Roach warren to the north, Infestation pit to the north-west, Spire to the west and Nydus network to the south-west.

I can practically see the layout of the future hive, all these structures fused together, covered in thick carapace and liked by veins, some circulating creep from an 'organ' to another, others serving as passages and pathways for the creatures inhabiting the hive, like an underground bunker. The only mean of entering or leaving would be to trough the Nydus worm, which I intend to have waiting in the cave left by the depleted mineral vein, giving my collector drones a direct and faster access to resources.

"What do we need to make this happen?" I ask the Advisor, my decision taken.

I didn't know sloths could cringe, "A lot of biomass, minerals and Vespene… If you allow me to spawn more drones, I will have them bring in trees and dead animals to increase our reserves."

I nod, "Do it," Then, I get a sudden flash. There's a huge underground warehouse west of here, it stores the place's food, wood, minerals and fossil fuel as a tithe to the Imperium…

Its entrance is heavily guarded and fortified, but I don't intend to get in trough the entrance.

I have all my current forces join me at the Nydus worm, who stops spitting Zerglings and slowly dig its way to my intended target.

I bring one Queen, six Zerglings, all three Roaches, a Changeling and the four 'shock Zerglings', along with eight drones, to carry the supplies back to base.

Once the worm has pierced a hole in the concrete wall, we all step trough the tunnel entrance and I try hard not to think about the fact it's actually that worm's rectum…


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:Short chapter today. I'll soon begin writing from Sven's point of view only, now that everyone knows the premises and circumstances, and because I prefer when the readers aren't omniscient, allows me to put in some real intrigue and such ^^**

**Hideout Writer: lol, no idea what Wraith 12.0 is, and I googled it and all :S**

**Kane: Well, I told you about his dream because he doesn't sleep anymore, thanks to his new morphology, so, normally, his brain never enters a dream state...**

**Zake Unit 2.0: Didn't mean to be a meaner, you are right, I appreciate the review :D My lack of smiley makes communication difficult...**

**Master of the Blood Woves: Nope, he never did, and some random Guardsman's parasite thoughts aren't the most reliable source there is :D**

**And you'll see non-Zerg side less and less, as mentioned above... I'm not skilled at writing like that :S**

**Carlo Gesualdo: Yup, that's what I heard, and I didn't explicitly state it in the story, but Sven doesn't give a damn about her powers, she's barely a low level Ghost as it is, he only hopes whatever she's leeching power off protects her brain from corruption, like Terazine for him, the Kahla for Protoss or Kerrigan's DNA for the Queen of Blades...**

**chaoscrafter008: I know exactly what the Titans can do, don't worry, I just can't have Sven never make any mistakes and be omniscient, can I? :3**

**Well, thanks everyone for reviewing it really helps :D See ya tomorrow! **

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><p><strong>Verlana City<strong>

**01/15/00**

**Braxis**

**0907 hours**

Fauster ran, faster than he knew he could, exploding from behind the Baneblade, his heavy boots hammering the asphalt and leaving cracks in it along the way.

Bullets and lasers fizzled past the Marine and one touched his shoulder, knocking the veteran off balance.

Greg leapt and smashed in the alley, just in time to avoid the incoming Heavy bolter fire.

Victor was already in there, slapping a fresh ammo drum in his grenade launcher.

"Everything alright, Sarge?" The War Pig asked, his voice smug and his face hidden by the visor.

"It's general for you, punk," Fauster snapped, "Now get some fire on that balcony!"

"Yes, sir!" The Pig laughed, enthusiastically, "Gimme some cover!"

He waited for the Boltgun to stop firing, noticing the hole in the ground caused by the constant stream of large caliber rounds, while Fauster got ready to cover the guy.

The merc stepped out, his GL-8 Pillar grenade launcher thumping twice before he was knocked on his ass by incoming lasgun fire.

Fauster quickly followed and opened fire, shooting 8mm supersonic spikes at the barricade of corpses ahead. His weapon could pierce the enemy's cover with ease, but he couldn't tell for sure where they were behind the pile of cadavers, since they only climbed it to take potshot and the Catachans and Terrans.

The two grenades from Victor's Pillar hit their mark, an ornate balcony on some expensive villa, turned heavy weapon position by the Chaos cultists.

It simply disappeared when the ammo supply went off and the two Marines turned their attention to the 'barricade'. Victors grenade launcher sent body parts flying all over the place while Greg's Impaler was going right trough and left only tiny red holes in the corpses.

The Baneblade fired one of its smales cannons into the barricade and the thing vanished, quite simply.

The tank was slow on the uptake but once it's got the idea, hell, get the fuck out of the way!

The Guardsmen ran up the steps to the vila, the new platoon headquarter, while the Terrans and Baneblade secured the vicinity, their equipment unsuited for close combat.

Alan and Silva were assigned to guard the front door while Vince was finally evacuated by medivac dropship, along with a couple Guardmen. These guardsmen, even one who'd just been shot in the foot, would later be declared dead on the operating table and never seen again.

Hannah went with Dylan to secure the rear while Cole and Langley spread on either sides of the building. Greg stayed with the Tank, however, knowing the order could come any time now.

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Imagine being in a waterslide, and going trough a tunnel so dark you can barely see your own feet. Now imagine that this tunnel, instead of being filled with water, is filled with some thick oily substance and finally, imagine the tunnel is contracting right behind you to push you at the speed of a subway train.

Well, that's a Nydus worm, and that's awesome.

The tunnel descends, curves and rise where the Worm had to go around a patch of compacted dirt or mineral formation. I don't know which side is up or if that thing's my feet or my arm, and I don't care, this is the most kickass ride I ever experienced!

Then, I emerge trough the worm's mouth and shield myself in psionic energy in time to bounce off the ceiling and land on a crate full of some round purple fruit.

I'm in the underground warehouse's last level, right in the middle of the round structure, we broke right trough the Aquila symbol on the floor.

All over the place, large supply crates and containers are piling up all the way to the room, most of them wooden, a few metallic. Doesn't matter, we can break both down with the drones' acid.

Around me, the Zerg raiding party is thrown up by the Nydus worm in a way pretty similar to what happened to me. The thing barely slows you down before regurgitating you… The explosive effect Kessler added to it is quite simply the ability to speed things up more and instinctual knowledge when to slow them down or not.

I notice three Hydralisks decided to tag along, but don't send them back, as I know Kessler had them follow so they could begin 'researching' a good way to resist lasguns.

I have the drones spread out and start taking the resources to the Nydus worm's mouth while the rest of the forces, except the Queen, move forward, to the freight elevator.

Pistol in hand, I sweep every corner for movement, seeing perfectly in the unlit warehouse. Behind me, the Hydralisks are slithering across the floor silently while shock Zerglings –Let's call them Shocklings- jump on top of the container piles, setting up overwatch.

We reach the elevator and I attempt to make it open trough technopathy, with little effect, as the firewall immediately lock me out and sound an alarm. Fucking Mechanicus assholes saw me coming, I guess.

I single thought on my part and the Roaches are melting trough the blast door, their acid spray eating the metal away like fire trough paper.

We step trough and onto the elevator, which I don't need to hack, since it works with two buttons.

The thing is large enough to carry an Arclite Siege tank, so we're not really cramped…

I put the Zerglings on front of the door, ready to leap, and have the Hydras and Roaches form a loose half circle formation while the Shocklings hang from the spider web-like steel ceiling.

As for myself, I'm holding my gun aimed ahead. The thing can't wait to just kill something.

"_Kill, burn, kill, maim, burn …" _It mumbles in morbid anticipation.

"You have some serious issues…" I point out, still aiming the thing ahead.

"_Hey, I'm a ten thousand years old possessed gun, so, yeah, I'm pretty one dimensional with what I want…"_

The elevator stops and the gate opens to a whole platoon of Imperial Guardsmen, with actual lasguns this time, and two guys that seem to have gone a little too hard on cybernetic implants.

The Guards are hiding behind crates, expecting a lot of things, but not a Zerg rush.

Just as the Zerglings move ahead, covered by volleys of armor piercing poisonous spikes and a showered of acid, the Guardsmen open fire with their flashlights.

I line up one of them, a Commissar, and squeeze out a shot that atomizes all of his left shoulder and neck.

Despite the lack of leadership, the guards manage to kill half the Zerglings before being flanked and slaughtered by Shocklings.

I send the forces to sweep the level and psionically block the elevator. We won't need it anymore and the backups are trying to descend from the temporary barracks on the first level.

I advance toward the center of the room, a good fifty meters further, and step over the massacred Guardsmen, the floor slippery with blood.

One of them has practically disemboweled and dismembered, but is still breathing, so I stop and walk up next to him.

He's young, about seventeen… Shouldn't be fighting, shouldn't be dying, but then, what's it change if he die now or in three years, when his passing will be more morally acceptable? Death is death and we all got it coming.

I shoot him in the face and earn an aggravated gasp from another survivor behind me.

This one just had both legs chewed on under the knees and is slowly crawling away, choking in fear as I make eye contact.

He's a bit older than the kid I just shot, but not by much.

I look at his wounds and kneel by his side.

"Hold still." He holds still, not breathing, not thinking, only praying that I'll make in quick.

Psi regeneration isn't my strong suit, but I manage to fix his tendons and a few muscles, enough for him to hoof it to the elevator.

"Move your ass out of here, son." I order and his brain resumes working. He considers using his laspistol to go out in a blaze of glory but decides he'd rather live.

Once the kid's in the elevator, I seal the door and let the thing climb all the way to the first level before blocking it again.

Next, I melt trough the steel floor eight meters to the right of the Aquila symbol, using pyrokinesis to tell the steel how hot it is out here.

Once that's done, I use telekinesis to push crates of food and wood trough the hole, where the drones hurry and take them to the worm.

I'm sure Imperial backups are en route, but their air support has been all but obliterated, so they'll have to come trough the jungle and that might take a while.

We have a day at most to get the supplies to the now morphing hive and get out of here. Plenty of time, seeing as we never rest or sleep, we'll be long gone by the time the Imperials understand what hit them…

_**Revenant**_**, Captain's quarters**

**01/18/00**

**Braxis**

**0930 hours**

Eugene strolled into the Commander's office and slammed a sheet of paper on her desk.

"What kind of game are you playing, Worst?" He snapped, stepping back to let her read the sheet.

Karen kept her cool and read the thing.

It was a casualty report from that camp she's marked green, a back up field hospital, filled with wounded and dying guardsmen, or so the Protoss said.

Her face fell at the numbers, eight hundred casualties? Civilians, wounded, sick and children, all massacred and infested by the Zerg. What the heck had Sven been thinking! He was supposed to harass the Imperials, not slaughter innocent peoples! She thought the guy was some kind of Teddy bear; rough enough to get shit done and soft enough to do it without hurting too many peoples in the process.

"I…" She stuttered, stunned by the possible implications of this, "I don't know what happened… I'll go talk with the man right awa…"

"Talk? What do you expect him to say? There are no good reasons for this kind of attitude, if he's turning like Kerrigan, you have to put him down; enough monstrosities on the loose in the galaxy without having the Zerg join the party!"

Karen's face hardened, "Agreed, but I don't really see any of us standing up to the Zerg right about now…"

The Rogue Trader backed away from her desk and went to the minibar, pouring himself a glass of Scotty Bolger's Old No. 8.

He downed the thing in one go and sighed while serving himself another, "Damn, the Imperium can do lots of things better than old Terrans, but Whiskey ain't one of them." He tuned and, now facing the Ghost, downed the second glass just as fast before talking, "The Imperials have what it takes to bring him down."

Karen choked and leapt off her seat, yelling, "I'm not going to let them kill one of my best men!"

Eugene yelled right back, "He ain't your man anymore, he's Zerg and all you can do for him now is end his life while there's still something human in him!"

Karen fell back in her chair and held her head in both hands, "Oh god… It's my fault…"She whimpered, hitting herself on the side of her skull, "I should have known better… I shouldn't have listened to the Protoss… Fucking aliens. I killed Sven, and now you want me to kill him again…"

Eugene placed a bottle of cheap liquor in front of the Ghost, understanding exactly how she felt, his tone grew softer "It's your move. Maybe I'm wrong and this was just all one big misunderstanding, or maybe he is turnin' mad with power, don't beat yourself up on things you can't change, focus on what's still in your power…"

She shook her head and drunk from the bottle directly, "Okay… We'll do it your way; I'll tell the Imperials we've found the Zerg."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: So, I'll speed things up a little in the following chapters as a mean to show the quick escalation of event and how fast luck can turn in this new world. As for the Protoss, they have actually been extremely active, acting as scouts and assassins for the Revenants, they just don't mingle with humans and mostly keep to their ships for commodity reasons.**

**Hideout Winter: Oh! Those Wraith :D Of course how could I forget :O**

**Kane: Uh, all I can answer right about now is the 'What motvated you to write this story' xD And it's simple, I was sick of seeing people writing Starcraft fics depicting the Imperium as the source of all awesomeness, so I figure I,d write a fair fic, for a change... Harder than it looks...**

**Zaku Unit 2.0: Well, she's under a lot of pressure lately, but in truth, she never did like Sven.**

**chaoscrafter008: lol, there is no benefit of the doubt when dealing with the Zerg :P And although the Protoss have the tech, they don't have the manufacturing capacities of the Terrans, and one should take note that they might be the last of their species, they have to stay hidden and safe most of the time...**

**Bakka Ecchi Kon: Will do :D**

**Master of the Blood Wolves: Yeah, it's like some CIA op in the 80s where they used crosswords to tell their agents who the target was. The first two issues were just normal crosswords, but the agents still killed two targets :S**

**Kane: Nope, they're just an intermediary unit between Zergling and Ultralisk...**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Rule number one for running an empire, son: When the Zerg are a topic of conversation, the niceties go out the airlock."<em>**

**_- Arcturus Mengsk_**

Kessler is acting like an excited child while going trough the new DNA depository of the Hive. Turns out the Zerg have over thousands of species they could access and those we use are just the easiest to produce or most efficient.

From that repository, the Advisor has been taking anything useful and stuffing it in the new entity that is our hive, now buried seven hundred meters underground.

At first, I was thinking ant nest, but no, that doesn't even compare; the hive cluster is now a living, thinking _sentient_ being, calling himself Atlas, in honor of some guy who carried the world on his shoulders or something.

And thanks to Kessler's constant upgrades and my sending drones to grow him new organs and add limbs, Atlas is slowly growing into an manta shaped underground mobile field base.

I got no idea what he looks like on the outside, except that he's six hundred meters long, five hundred meters wide and a hundred meters tall. A lot of this is empty pockets of air filled with some sort of fungus that feed on CO2 and produces O2 as wastes, -Atlas' lung- and the rest is mostly structures and weapons.

On the outside, I know he has weird spikes that allow his body to propel itself underground, a pair of oversized Kaiser blade-like claws allowing him to dig trough rock and many spine crawlers and Nydus worms are spread across his body, providing us with a mean of attacking anything above us.

This is something Kessler and I thought up that, somehow, the Overmind and Kerrigan had barely worked on, probably because they never had to face foes as superior as those I now face. That new hive cluster configuration makes it hard to field air units and such, but allows for near impenetrable defenses, safe travel and fast deployment trough Nydus canals…

The Overmind would be proud.

Right now, Atlas is slowly digging his way to take out that motor pool, now that our forces are sufficient and that I can just use the hive's defenses as anti-tank mean. The original plan is scrapped and the new one is to send changelings into the base to point out the locations of guard towers, tanks and such to be destroyed by spine crawlers… Seriously, who needs air support when you got underground support?

Okay, it'll take us almost a day to get there when it would only be an hour above ground, but we're safe from pretty much anything short of a Protoss planet cracker…

The sphincter to the air pocket I now reside in slides away and Kessler slithers in my chamber, where I am practicing levitation, cross legged and one meter above the floor.

I look at the slug but do not loose my focus, as gravity would remember me, should I let my Advisor's sudden arrival unnerve me.

"Talk to me, Kes." I order, as a more complicated sentence would take too much reflection.

We received an image from the Overseers still out there, an Imperial Guard unit, complete with Super Heavy tank, just entered the clearing we occupied a few hours ago…

There are soldiers with CMC armors amongst them, Greg, Hannah, Victor, Alan and Dylan.

They are looking around, weapons at the ready. Not a courtesy visit.

One of the Overseers drop a Changeling and it takes my form, walking into the clearing through a hole the drones made long ago with acid.

"Hey, guys!" it calls in my voice, waving them, "What's up?"

Everyone turns their weapon to it and, before another word is spoken, fry that poor sucker.

They shot…me? Why would they…

Kessler's clawed hand rests on my shoulder, squeezing it in a comfort gesture. They abandoned me, used me then, as soon as things began going their way, threw me like a used tissue.

I should be sad, I should be insulted, but, honestly, could it have gone any other way? I saw it coming a mile away and it seems my instinct to burrow the base just saved my life…

Ever been thunderstruck? No, not by a lightning, by realization? Well, I just felt it, it actually dawns on you, rising slightly in the back of your mind and you feel it heating up. It's always the same feeling, it's physical, you feel the information make its way to you conscious receptors and, as they go, realize the content of that information, your thoughts, are all that define you as human.

Everything is crystal clear; the fact your lungs have been pumping air on themselves while your brain worked, the fact your brain is in no way different to any animal's in that for all it's intelligence, in the end it will die and, finally, the revelation, something your brain knew all along but wouldn't tell you.

In my case, that revelation is that my experience of the human race resumes itself to shattered memories of a long gone past, being abducted at six to follow one of the hardest training known to man, then being experimented on like some damn lab rat before being dismissed and phased out in an ice prison where I'm meant to die.

I'm not human. I have never been treated as such and no one ever had the common fucking courtesy of explaining to me what actually defines a human being. I wouldn't fit the bill, that's pretty sure.

The Zerg are all I have now, not that I ever had anything to begin with.

"Should we carry on with the attack, Sven?" Kessler seems worried that I'll break down, but I just laugh.

"Nope."

"Then what shall we do, Overmind?" I see what he did there. Having them call me Sven was a way for me to reject my new identity. I am the Overmind, better I accept it than try and pretend I'm something else.

I think about it for a while, then I smile broadly, maybe a little darkly, given that the slug backs away slightly. "We survive. By killing everything that stands in our way."

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Hannah cried, she cried for some guy she'd barely known, but who had done much for them ever since their escape.

"It's not fair," the medic choked, crouched over the body, "He did all this to help us and we didn't even bother to tell him why we had to kill him…"

Victor pulled her away from the corpse and Alan fried it with his right flame thrower, splashing the sand around with napalm. With Sven dead, wherever the Swarm was hiding, it would dissolve, Shaanis had been very clear on that point.

The guards didn't hear the exchange and honestly didn't care. This clearing was unnatural, something had consumed all living things and left the ground scarred, lifeless and barren.

The Revenants were about to head back to the tank and, from there, back to the villa, but things weren't going to be that simple, as Karen choose that moment to announce the operation 'Kick their Fascist ass' was beginning. Now.

Greg didn't ask any question, didn't make any comment and did not even flinch. He walked up to the other Sergeant Fauster and shot the man with his Impaler rifle twice. The first round pieced the man's arm and embedded itself on the side of the Baneblade, while the second went trough the guardsman's helmet and pinned his shattered skull.

Before the tank crew could close their hatches, a flow of Napalm engulfed the whole interior, incinerating everyone inside like overcooked pork.

The rear guard made a run for the jungle, but were blown to pieces by the Marauder's grenade launchers while the front guard was faced by the Pigs.

To their credits, the Catachan did manage to knock Silva on her ass trough well timed use of fragmentation grenades and fast wit, but it was too little too late and the last imperial trooper fell to a bayonet cleaving him in half vertically.

Thus, the Imperial Guard on Braxis found itself without its only super-heavy tank, even though the Revenants could not use the thing themselves, this was a major and rare victory in what would be a long and bloody battle.

Over the next days, the three companies of resocs that made up the Revenants forces, assisted by Nerazim assassins, all but annihilated the local PDF and whatever Guardsmen were left, with a little, involuntary help from what little pockets of Chaos cultists remained, their power armors, gauss rifles and technology all but breaking the back of any imperial resistance, until they reached the eastern district, there, they met the Adeptus Astartes.

Their numbers went from seven hundred to four hundred after the first assault, so the Commander had them dig in and wait for the Space Marines at key chokepoints.

The Space Marines came, wiping out all but the first company, the Force Recon marines, and a the two othe companies special purpose units, a week later, no one was progressing; the Terran Marines not having enough brains or training to outmaneuver the Astartes and the Space Marines just not having any form of armored support to counter the Terran Crucios and Vikings.

Both groups were at a stalemate, so it seemed the victor would be decided trough space engagements, which Karen was reluctant to engage in…

So she had her moon based factories start producing Behemoth and Minotaur class battlecruisers, two of each, to be precise, in preparation of the upcoming battle.

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**Atlas **

**01/25/00**

**Braxis**

**0907 hours**

The sudden influx of rage and confusion within the swarm takes both Kessler and I by surprise and force us to abandon our chess game. He was winning anyway.

Kes is made to maneuver the hive, with his round and flexible body, as for me, it feels like a constant trip at some real fucking extreme water-slides; I duck in a hole and slide on the creep at a forty degrees angle before smashing to a stop in a intermediary room filled with pulsing sphincters and veins leading to the different parts of Atlas. The place is lit by bio-luminescent worms living on the walls

I need to go down, so the one under my feet slips out of the way and I barrel down the soft tunnel, arriving in the evolution pit at the same time as Kessler.

The landing is soft, the fleshy ground acting like a trampoline, and although I find myself faced with a silver-white version of the Queen of Blade ready to cut me to pieces, I'm not worried…

As soon as she slashes, the muscles I'm resting on contract, sending me high above her head.

I push myself in a slow back flip and land two meters further.

Kerrigan was purple, green and brown, mostly, but that thing in front of me could easily pass as a normal human wearing a Ghost suit and equipped with these mechanical limbs the Adeptus Mechanicus like so much; Atella doesn't have that segmented Zerg carapace Kerrigan had, I made it a point with Kessler that she should be able to blend in into a human population, so he sacrificed some protection by using a symbiotic life-form that reacts to psi energy instead.

The Zerg Ghost suit, basically, except it's not supposed to be white with silver lining like it is now, but at least it can be hidden by cloathing.

I have no idea how comes she turned that way and neither does Kessler, but in any event, I can now feel the effect of her transformation radiating from her.

When we found Atella, she rated six on the Psi Index, now, she'd rate around twelve, thanks to Sarah Kerrigan's DNA. Her face has taken a few of Kerrigan's features as well, but retained most of its former prominent features. Seems the same happened to her brain; whoever was giving her power acted as a shield against any possible personality alteration, so she's still a fanatical Emperor cultist. Great.

I tell her to calm herself trough our link with the Swarm and, given that she's only partly Zerg and a tiny bit infested human, she manages to resist it enough to punch me in the face screaming incoherent stuff about me being a freak of nature and kidnapping.

I just shrug it off and smile, "Well, normally, I would make you a speech about the glory that is your birthright and such, but I doubt that's what you want to hear, so let me tell you this; you know who I am, you know what I do and you know what you'll gain from helping me, so what do you say?" She instinctively knows all that because she's got the same kind of link to the Swarm as a Cerebrate does.

Her tough as nail façade is wavering now. Fact is, her whole devotion to the emperor was caused about halfway by the knowledge that she would die one day and the hope that she would gain a place in the afterlife but being Zerg changes all the rules; she's the god now, she can't die anymore and, in a universe where no matter how hard you fight, how grand your legacy is, the only thing you know for certain is that no one will remember your passing, my offer is very tempting. More so than death, anyway.

She poses only a single condition: that one day, when our forces are sufficient, we head to Terra, infest the Emperor and resurrect him.

I accept, wondering how that crazy bitch expects me to pull it off, and the woman smiles broadly, having somehow conciliated both her allegiances. I think she's insane, just my luck…

"What would you ask of me, Overmind?"

I show her a vision from one of my Overseers; a scout squad of Space Marines has been sent to the industrial town I raided for mutagens, along with an Adeptus Mechanicus, to find out just what happened. It's only a matter of time before they start piecing things together and I don't want that, I want to keep them in the dark about the Swarm for as long as possible.

That and I want their Gene-seed.

She nods and turn to leave, but I stop her.

"One last thing, Sister of Blades," she turns slightly, her long and silver hairs hiding her eyes quite sinisterly, "You're born alone, you die alone, the gap between the two is yours to fill, not mine, not the Emperor's, yours, so if you change your mind, I won't kill you for it; there are no slaves in the Swarm."

She nods and I task the 'Big' Theralisk with assisting her, acting half as armored support, half bodyguard.

I follow my new Lieutenant to the nearest Nydus canal and brief her on my forces:

Five hundred Zerglings, seventy nine Hydralisks, eighteen Infestor, thirty Shocklings, seven Ultralisk, two Brutalisk, one Omegalisk, six small Theralisk, ninety Overseers, a hundred Roaches, two hundred and fifty one Banelings, nineteen queens all in the central room and tending my four new Lairs and the central hive, and, finally, more drones than I care to count.

"Long story short; you need help, just ask, we'll be there in no time." She nods and seems confused that I'd care. She still has trouble getting over the fact I'm not a chaos champion or something similar.

Atlas had to grow new storage rooms and more creep producing glands to support our sudden population increase, but we managed, although I think it's about time we did something, besides biding our time…

Atella reaches the canal and ends up face to face with the giant, slightly chicken-like, prototype tank unit. I like the Theralisk because it combines speed and armor, but I feel this gigantic model, slightly smaller than an Ultralisk, yet bigger than a T-rex would have been, is a bit _too_ large for its role as fast attack armor support, and not agile enough for anti-walker purposes, so I created the smaller models and am now waiting to test them out on the field.

The 'Sister of Blades' and her prehistoric protector disappear trough the worm's ass and I find myself alone.

I've never been in a commanding position before and it's a lot more trouble than I thought… It's harder than it seems, when your only objective is genetic perfection, to figure out your next move… The Overmind thought the Protoss were the key to that, so I might as well give it a try.

My Overseer over Verlana, hiding in the thick clouds, spends almost an hour searching the battlefield without success, until a shadow attracts its attention; a Dark Templar assassin in the Astarte section of the city, almost next to the Space Marine HQ…

I send an Infestor with a dozen Shocklings and the small Theralisks trough Nydus worm and prepare the operation plan, implanting precise instructions in all units.

It takes some time for the worm to dig all that distance, so, in the meantime, I observe the Nerazim at work.

He is now standing atop a scorched concrete wall, watching as an tactical Marine squad walks past him on their patrol, oblivious to what hides in the shadows despite their ability to detect cloaked enemies.

As soon as they are gone, the Templar drops to the floor and glance around. Satisfied that he's not been seen, the Protoss sprints ahead straight at a tall wall, leading to the Astarte field HQ.

The Alien ninja actually run up the five meters high gap between the floor and window, slipping in undetected.

I loose sight of him for exactly five seconds…

The Nerazim comes crashing trough the wall opposite to the window he entered and crashes in the middle of the Astarte camp, plasma shields flaring. The camp is actually a bunch of ammo crates and maintenance equipment disposed in a circle around a roasting Ursadon wolf; the templar crashed right next to the fire…

He is quickly surrounded by pissed off Astartes, but they refrain from hacking him to pieces on a single command from the… what the fuck is this?

Seems the Revenants have eyes in the sky as well, because I intercept a transmission saying basically the same thing, except using Fekk instead of fuck; I'm a rare amateur of old classics…

While I was checking the transitions, the huge mole-like armored guy and Protoss are dishing it out in the circular camp, oblivious to the ashes and flames they are stampeding in the process, thanks to the mole's huge armor plates and Protoss plasma shield.

Dark Templars are assassins, but they're also centuries old warriors more than a match to some walking tank…

The Nerazim leaps, both warp blades deployed and ready to slash, but the other warrior uses his claws to block, which would have failed with anything not covered by a force field, but the guys claws actually hold and he's about to strike back when my boys come to play.

Everyone leaps to cover when the giant worm comes breaking trough the concrete. Dust and debris fill the whole area, raining down on ammo crates and causing two of them to detonate.

Amidst the confusion, the Shocklings and Theralisk are spat out of the Nydus worm and the latter immediately form a phalanx in front of the Infestor, who quickly uses its neural parasite to force the templar into that worms' mouth.

That's when the Space Marines decide it's time to strike back. They open fire on the Theralisk phalanx and the Zerg keep a tight formation for a few seconds, using their bony crests as shields.

Then, the Shocklings dive at the Imperials like birds of prey, causing another round of cursing and blind firing.

The paratrooper Zerglings are all slaughtered, but they still manage to kill two Astartes –both of whom figured they didn't need their helmets- and buy the Nydus worm enough time to retract its head back to safety.

Well, that wasn't so hard… Now let's go say hello to our new friend.

Kessler pops in trough a hole in the ceiling and hands me some sort of wingless, legless mosquito, which I hide in my back as I walk trough the next sphincter.

The Theralisk are already gone, leaving me alone with the Nerzim and the Infestor. I have the Zerg release the Protoss and smile, "Welcome to the belly of the beast, pal!" My friendly tone doesn't help making the templar feel any more trusting of me.

"_What do you want of me?"_

"Now," I pout, "why be so harsh when I just saved your life?"

He groans and subconsciously takes combat stance, _"Which tells me you need something from me…" _

Smart guy, "Alright," I admit, "I need to assimilate Protoss DNA in my quest for world domination and such, you're a Protoss, you'll do the trick…"

His warp blades spring to life and I laugh; the Infestor parasites the tall alien once more and I stab the mosquito in the Templar's neck.

The rear end of the small Zerg entity quickly fills with a pale blue liquid, then, the sample taken, dethatches and hardens to the point it is closer to a rock than the delicate sack it used to be.

The sample taken, I have the Nerazim take a few steps back, until he's next to the Nydus canal and wave him good bye just as the Infestor releases its grip. Not quite understanding what's going on, the alien hesitates and I punch it in the face hard enough to make him fall in the worm, who's ready to spit him out a hundred meters behind Revenant lines.

Sure, I could have killed the guy and kept my survival a secret, but I have no reason to be at war with the Revenants, so I hope that gesture will make it obvious…

That, and I'm not a psychopath, I don't like killing peoples, unless it's for the right cause.

I hand the blood sample to Kessler, tossing the thing over my shoulder while he, in contrast, handles it as if it were the holy grail.

Well, if Kessler got his hand on the holy grail, he'd probably toss it just like I did with the Protoss blood; he doesn't need eternal youth.

It's funny how the Overmind actually invaded Aiur, but never got around to analyzing Protoss DNA… I mean, what else did he need? There were plenty of bleeding Protoss out there, I'm sure…

Doesn't matter now, we got it, and we're going to use it.

Kessler looks like an overworked computer processing this new genetic code.

The images he sends me… It's beautiful… Perfection…

Creatures, half Zerg, half Protoss, their carapace pitch black with stripes of blue psi energy running along their sides and heads, starting in their eyes, their sharp fangs and claws radiating with psi energy. Gigantic harbingers of destruction or small and quiet entities burning with psi power, the possibilities are endless…

Then, he tells me about the three years it would take to grow even one of those things and that is quite the mood killer. Three years isn't that a long time, but Christ, in three years it'll be a little too late for it to make a difference… I guess I know why the Overmind didn't do anything about it, although I have a feeling there was something more to it…

I still get a few of them on the way and have drones move the eggs to a secure chamber inside Atlas.

Next, I ask Kes if we could possibly upgrade our current units with this and his answer is immediate; no for anything with a genetic complexity under that of the Protoss themselves –just about everything we have-, but yes for anything not grown in an egg…

This means; me, Atlas and our new recruit.

"Let's start with Atlas and see what happens…" I look up, even though her nerve cluster is actually under me. "You okay with that, big guy?"

His hoarse psionic voice is quick to answer; "Yes, for the Overmind!"

He ain't the most social thing ever, but it's not what he was… Morphed for?

Anyway, the image I get from Kessler as for the result resembles a teardrop, with an organic hardened carapace and folded Kaiser blades making up the head and spine crawlers and Nydus worms dragging behind in a tight cluster and forming the rear.

There are veins of blue energy running across its carapace, like stress fractures, pulsing with energy. The veins all converge to a pair of glowing blue orbs near the tip of the tear-shaped creature.

I have no clue why Kessler showed it floating in outer space, but I suppose there is some hidden hint in that.

I nod at Kes and he heads straight to the evolution pit.

About five minutes later, Atlas enters some form of suspended animation, which means beyond the Nydus worms, we're sitting ducks.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **

**Hideout: Yup, there's someone pulling strings.**

**Kane: most physical being? **

**Anyway, I don't know yet for most questions ^^ But the resocs died because the Astartes have much better training and slightly better gear and because resocs have the common sense of a blind kitten.**

**Carlo Gesualdo: He remembers a lot from his childhood, even a bit of his family, it's just very fuzzy and he's missing large chunks.**

**Zaku Unit 2.0: He's like Tosh, he'll do anything to get a job done, but won't resort to unnecessary cruelty. He will commit a few acts of seemingly random violence, but there's a strategic explaination behind that too.**

**Master of The Blood Wolves: Yeah... I still don't know myself...**

**Kane: My sis took my computer and figured it'd be fun to hack my story :O**

**The Zerg will have a few dedicated psi units, but the Tyranid comand node system doesn't sit right with me, I'd much prefer having these psychic relay behind base defenses, ready to fly away at any sigh of trouble...**

**And yes, the Eldar know about the Zerg.**

* * *

><p>Atella did not have the slightest clue how she was supposed to go against four Space Marines and an Inquisitor on her own, yet she somehow felt like this was the point of this mission; a test of her abilities and resolve.<p>

She turned to the huge yet silent creature backing her up, hidden ten meters to her right.

In the week they had spent waiting for their quarry to come back, the thing had developed an ability to adapt its skin color to the environment, something the Overmind would be very glad to see.

Atella did not know what had made them leave in such a hurry, but had reasoned that they certainly did not have time to investigate the area and would surely return soon enough, so she waited, hiding in the jungle with her protector hunting for both of them.

But today, the hiding was over; in the distance, she could feel the tension rise as the commandeered civilian shuttle touched down in the ruins of the lasgun factory.

The scout marines stepped out, Boltguns at the ready. They fanned out trough the area and any curious civvies that had approached to see what was happening were quick to go back to their shacks.

Atella got moving, sending the Theralisk right at the marines while she sneaked behind them.

The Theralisk roared in primal furor and stomped forward, its foorsteps shaking the ground.

The first bolt round clipped its thick carapace a split second latter, barely more than an annoyance to the heavily armored creature.

It tore right trough the shaky shacks that stood between it and its preys, crushing a few bystanders and never breaking a step.

The inquisitor retreated to the shuttle and ordered the pilot to take off, but is was way too late for this; the Theralisk leapt over the Space Marines line, both gigantic scythe-like claws unfolding in midair, and intercepted the shuttle in midair, its five meters long claws digging in the metal and impaling the pilot in the process.

The flying machine barreled our of control, spinning and bucking as the super-predator tore off large bits of machinery. The shuttles' machine spirit was determined to bring its opponent down with it, however, and re-oriented its fall to crash into the power-cell factory.

The resulting explosion was small, but intense, causing heat so intense, the walls of the factory twisted around the impact point.

The three youngest marines knew nothing could survive such an inferno, so they turned around, in time to see their leader fall to his knees, then watch as his head fell off.

No word was exchanged; they all knew their roles and got back to back, firing their Bolters in all directions, trying to hit their cloaked opponent.

The space marines followed their training to the letter, covering the whole ruins perfectly…

From her perch, atop the still burning factory, Atella grinned at the display. Space Marines were elite, but she was a Sister of Battle, she went into combat for years without elite training or implants and came trough every tussle she found herself in, and these kids were still just that, kids; the follow up would be fun…

The marine quickly reloaded his bolter, lowering his gaze jus one second, yet when he looked up, the woman was there, half demon, half angel and definitely not friendly.

He wiped up his gun, but she elbowed him in the helmet and kicked his bolter right ous of his hand, snatching it from him upside down…

The Marine felt like laughing when she aimed the thing at his legs. A non-armored woman firing a Boltgun upside down?

His legs were vaporized by the bolts and his torso was thrown high in the air, giving the others a clear shot at the 'Sister of Blades'.

She dropped the Bolter and raised her hands, a playful smile on her lips.

The Astartes did not know what to think of it, but they knew better that to get close, so both survivors slowly backed away, if only not to be hit by splash damage when they shot this creature.

Unfortunately, the Theralisk did not see it that way and, in a single sweep of its only remaining claw, beheaded both Astartes a second before they could press the trigger.

Atella looked at the creature, burnt to the point its left scythe was no more than a scorched stump, its tail was missing half its length, bleeding profusely, and she could see the bones on the whole left side of the Theralisk's crest.

It had also lost its right mandible, somehow…

Unbalanced by the damages to its tail, the creature had to use its remaining claw to hold itself up, but it held, a living example of why the Zerg were certain to become a major faction soon enough; no matter how hard you hit them, how much blood you take from them or how hot your fire burns, the Zerg never hesitated, they never slowed, never questioned themselves, they fought with all they had right up until the end and then, when they had nothing left, they changed the rules.

How such creatures could have been extinct for nearly forty millenniums, Atella could not understand, but she had a feeling it had something to do with that Kerrigan woman…

_**RNS Tarsonis**_

**02/01/00**

**Braxis' orbit **

**1927 hours**

Irena didn't like the fact she's just been catapulted to captain and even more, she didn't like the fact her whole crew was made up of resocs. They did as told and were quick to execute orders, but lacked any for of independent will.

Had she known anything about Sven's brood, Irena would have been quite amused by the fact his swarm had more individual free will and initiative than about seventy percent of the Revenants.

She would, but didn't, as right now, the Banshee pilot turned Battlecruiser captain had other things on her mind, like the three Imperial ships coming to meet her own fleet…

The Astarte Strike Cruiser was the most direct threat, so she devoted both Minotaur to fighting it while the Behemoth took care of the escorting Imperial Navy destroyers.

The Battlecruisers stood their ground and waited for the Imperials to arrive, plasma torpedoes and Yamato guns ready.

The Imperials did not fall for it and launched scores of boarding crafts, bombers and fighters.

Far under the Battlecruiser formation, the _Revenant_, still cloaked by the Protoss ship, launched ten squadrons of Vikings who quickly met the advancing Imperial fighters, engaging in dogfights that opposed the relatively advanced training, yet limited technical knowledge of Imperial pilots to the fearless determination yet complete lack of skills of the Revenants.

Not really eager to wait for the outcome, the Imperials moved in for the kill, bombardment canon and energy lances at the ready.

On their end, the Revenant ships were more than ready for them and the two Minotaur let loose a torrent of plasma torpedoes while both Behemoth fired their Yamato guns, unleashing a pair of concentrated nuclear explosions into the Imperial destroyers.

One of the Imperial ship attempted to evade, but was caught straight in the engine and went off in a fireball before anyone could laugh at the maneuver, for had it stood its ground, like its comrade, the heavy frontal armor would have dissipated most of the blast.

The answering salvo from the Imperials came before the plasma torpedo could hit their mark and the combination of bombardment cannon and Melta torpedoes were quick to dispatch both Behemoth. Luckily, the Minotaur-class Battlecruisers had shields and they held on to the onslaught.

Then, the Plasma torpedoes crashed into the heavily armored Astarte Cruiser, washing over its Void shield like a tsunami of plasma.

The shield failed, but the ship held on with a few hull breaches…

Now all ships were so close they could shoot each others with their point defense weapons.

Irena's Minotaur rocked and alarms blared as the Imperial ship finally exploded.

The helmsman, Lieutenant Habachi, yelled that they had lost propulsion and shields, but Irena was not worried; they had two more ships in the fight, so the Imperials would not…

The other Battlecruiser broke apart in a silent and horrific display of firepower from the Strike Cruiser. The _Revenant_ had been retrofitted with Protoss technology, yet was clearly no match for the Imperial ship, so Irena hoped Karen didn't do anything stupid…

"Everyone to the life pods!" She ordered, heading there herself.

The Cruiser was getting ready for a finishing blow and Irena knew for a fact she couldn't make it in time, so she headed for the weapon console instead and tried to get it working.

The thing reported no power to the lasers and not enough energy to fire the Yamato gun, so she fired three torpedoes, barely pissing off the other ship, but also knocking it off balance just enough for the shot to graze the _Tarsonis_.

Irena was what many would call a whack job, but she wasn't stupid, so from that point, the pilot ran like hell.

The last thing she saw before entering the last escape pod, was Karen doing something stupid.

0

0

0

**Atlas **

**02/01/00**

**Braxis**

**1928 hours**

I almost laugh when the _Revenant_ uncloaks. What the fuck does Karen expect to do? Jettison cargo crates at them?

Bad jokes aside, the Rev really doesn't look the same; it is bristling with crystals and weird ass Protoss shit.

Well, this should be interesting…

I wonder if Atlas could take on the Strike Cruiser… I mean, the scale of that ship is just ridiculous, but then again, the living hive ship has grown twice bigger since last time, so it would be somewhat of a fair fight, mostly considering he now has a ten meters large frontal carapace spore canons along his spine, three bio plasmid projectors on his flanks and 'nose' and his ability to project a shield-sized version of my psi shield.

That's without counting the 'parasites' like the thousands of scourges, laying dormant in the folds of its carapace, the Mutalisks flying around in the central room and the oversized spine crawlers that have rooted themselves in his ass.

I turn back to the space battle:

The bombardment canon is blocked by the Rev's plasma shields and the hybrid ship answers with the kind of weapons you see the 'toss use to crack planets open.

It has literally no effect on the imperial ship… How's that possible? Their shields are down and although their hull is tough, it certainly isn't tough enough to withstand a fucking glassing ray!

In any even, the Imperial just managed to disable the huge void ray the _Revenant_ used against them, but lost their bombardment cannon to a wing of Vikings, and they're now giving Karen a speech about why the Terrans are heretic and must die.

I turn to Kessler and the space nun, both are arguing over whether or not she should undergo the same procedure as Atlas.

The living ship hasn't changed much on the inside, except for the fact that instead of using bioluminescent worms, there are actualy bioluminescent veins running along the walls.

I asked Kessler if Atlas was an Hybrid and, once again, the Advisor just laughed. Later that day, he explained to me that he was as much an hybrid as someone with grafted Protoss limbs would be…

Anyway, I mentally poke them and they turn to me instantly, ready to receive instructions.

"Sister, what do you think, do we stand a chance against the Space marines cruiser?"

"Y…" She seems to notice something, "Not anymore."

I turn my attention back to the space battle and feel an icy ball in my guts; the Rev just exploded in a blue ball of plasma induced fire.

The _Revenant_ is gone? Just like that? Destroyed by a single enemy ship, despite all its Protoss tech? No way!

"Atlas!" I roar, not having the slightest idea what I'm supposed to do, but determined to do something, "Take us to orbit, I want that cruiser dead!"

The living hive seems delighted by the prospect of combat, and, quite frankly, I think it's about damn time we got moving…

Atlas digs himself out of the ground in five minutes, which is quite impressive for a kilometers large entity, and takes off using only telekinesis to propel himself.

Getting away from the planet's gravity is the hardest part, but this ship would rate thirty on the Psi index, and if you consider the fact every single Zerg provides it with power, it might as well be a hundred Imperial Psykers, so we make it to orbit in three minutes flat.

The Overseers warn me about five Imperial ship leaving the shadow of the third moon, but they're way too far to help their friend in time.

The Strike cruiser turns and actually tries to hail us. My evil overlord side takes over and I answer, using technopathy to transmit my evil-sounding new psi voice straight on every nearby ship' s communication system, but first, I listen to their commanding speech;

"This is the _Incontestable Victory_Strike Cruiser of the Ultramarines to unknown xeno ship, power down your weapons and prepare to be boarded!"

"No."

The captain is not amused, "This is you final warning, Xeno scum, surrender or we will obliterate your ship."

Atlas spits a blob of bio plasmid the size of an apartment building and psionically guide it to the evading imperial cruiser. It smashes into the thing's flank and melts trough the hull just bellow the bow. It punches right trough and sends the Astarte ship in a back flip, but it quickly stabilizes and get into position.

They fire back at us with their secondary weapons, but Atlas' psi shield holds as a brick wall peppered by a hail storm.

We expended a huge amount of energy getting out of atmosphere and now firing another salvo would leave us weakened, so I send some of our Acid-Scourges forward. These breed were crossed with Banelings; they pack more destructive power but their pustule impede their movement and make them obvious to enemy point defense weapons.

Two hundred living missiles exit the folds of Atlas' carapace and scream on their way to the enemy ship.

The imperial point defense weapons open up, blazing all across the hull, so I scatter the Scourges and cringe as about half of them, too slow to respond, are killed by a few lucky shots.

Out of the rest, only those near the bio-plasmid induced hull breach hit their marks, but it suffices.

By the time the reinforcement has arrived, we have already launched four flights of Mutalisks, nine Corruptors and thousands of Scourges.

There is enough time for me to contact the remaining human pilots, so I think up a quick speech for the resocs and search for their frequencies. Nothing; no radio, no thermal no radar, only us, the Imperials and debris.

Rage. It's a feeling Spectres were encouraged to use, as it increases our power, but as an Overmind, I can't be allowed to feel rage…

I just relax and earn some time.

The imperials send scores of torpedoes and missiles; I send the Scourges, Acid, regular and ripper, all rushing forward to meet the enemy ships.

All my Overseers are now inside Atlas and there are so many Scourges floating forward that we can barely see the advancing ships. Since we have our back to the

I almost feel like saying 'I shall blot out the sun!' but decide to say something deeper:

"What is it you hope to accomplish here?" I loose eight hundred Scourges to the missiles, but the intercepted the opening volley and the rest of the swarm is still advancing, so it doesn't matter. "We have not started this war, your arrogance did, how much blood must you shed for your Emperor? How many good lives must you ruin for truths that exist only in your own eyes?"

I get a response. They got nerve: "Be silent, xeno scum! Fight, or do not fight, but do not waste our time with useless talk!"

My chuckle is so creepy it gives me goose bumps, "So full of yourselves, surely you are an new iteration of the UED." Flights of Imperial fighters launch to intercept the Scourges, now four kilometers away from the enemy ships. "You will meet the same fate, for all your fascist empire has destroyed, for the Revenants, for the Protoss and most especially for _fun_, we will meet again."

Not sure how, but a Warp rift opens before us just as our number of Scourges begin dropping. With the correct amount of Terrazine, we can produce about a hundred per hour, but that's not really the point, I just don't want to fight the Imperials yet, but want to send them a message, so as soon as the Scourges begin causing some damage, I have Atlas get us into the warp and begin praying to whatever deity alien Overminds believe in that my theory was right.

See, Ka… Kat… Kal… That three eyed whore –that now dead three eyed whore- said the Warp parted around me, that I was what they call a 'blank' , she also noticed that my gun, powered by my suit and, by extension, my psi energy, was also spared by the warp, which I suppose means that, somehow, my psychic powers keep the warp at bay and since I'm the Overmind, there's a bit of my psi powers in every creatures of the swarm, so, in theory, Warp travel should be safe for us.

I hope so, anyway.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Yeah, I'm back :P So, Reverto Proditor means return of the pariah in latin, I named my story this because Revenants are not the focal point of it, the insertion of a force fundamentally different in a universe unused to sudden changes is. This is not an attempt to show which universe is the best, but more what I think would actually happen if both were to meet somehow. The Imperium is far too massive and strong to be challenged, same as any other forces of the 40k world, but the Terrans are far too hardy to be crushed, the Protoss are too powerful to be broken and the Zergs... Well, they are nature at its finest, and like that girl said: "Nature doesn't just adapt. Nature cheats, changes the rules, and slips out the back door with your wallet while you're still trying to figure out what the hell happened."**

**If you have any problem with the way I write this, you are free to say so, many have made very good points so far and I will adapt the story accordingly, but many are also being dumbasses and I want to make it clear; I did the research, I know the terminal velocities of both the Bolter and the impaler, I know why the Impaler ejects casings, I know the technicalities of the Aquila power armor and CMC armor, I know most of what was written about Astarte training and Guardsmen combat capabilities. If your problem is with one of these, I most likely did more researches than you, so you better have good sources. If you do, I promise to take your opinion in consideration. I'm not writing this for me, I don't like Sven, he didn't turn out the way I wanted, but I like this story and I want it to continue, see where it goes.**

Vilera was the very definition of backwater shithole, hanging out the edge of the Tau Empire, populated by both Tau farmers and human collaborators, as well as a few Kroot mercenaries, then, there was dirt. Dirt, crystallised metal, gas geysers and the structures to exploit those.

Tau scientists were still trying to crack the chemical composition of these elements in the hope of using them for something, but without any luck thus far, mostly because they were a minor project with little funding and a figurative dead end to anyone's career, so what took the enthusiastically desperate Terran colonists of Koprulu a year at most would take the depressively desperate Tau science crew more than a few decades.

Declan Koras was part of the science crew and a Gues… Ghas… Whatever, a human collaborator, but first of all, he was a survivor.

Sitting behind a Tau issued microscope, he scrutinized the piece of metal before him.

Vertical blue bars, horizontal red bars, weird star like formations. He had no clue what that was, not because it was a scientific mystery, although that did not help, but simply because Soras had never been in any kind of school.

His superior, a Tau earth caste, threw him a look over her note pad. Poor woman never suspected a thing.

"Anything to report?" She asked, her voice monotone and eyes empty.

Everyone on this rock was far too fraking down to even notice what he said hardly ever changed from the pre-concieved report: "I'm seeing a few odd veins, but could not obtain any conclusive chemical reaction from them."

Ten hours of researches before taking the job had gotten him a few pre-made replies that would actually make sense, but not if heard by someone with a body temperature roughly in the nineties.

She nodded and just left him to pretend working.

He was born in Imperial space thirty years prior and already, his talent for survival was put to use, he was taken from his mother and handed to the Ordo Hereticus for purging.

The inquisition never joked with mutations, even minor, but babies did not inspire much suspicion even in overzealous sociopaths and he had somehow managed to survive. A feat on the paper, an unavoidable conclusion to anyone who knew how troublesome kids that age could be.

He never had a family, that didn't happen in the grimdark future, some people would take him in for a while, but usually for personal reason, to impress friends or get additional food alocations, but they fed him and he grew up, jumping from family to family like an errant dog until the day he could fend for himself.

That day, he was caught stealing and tossed in an Adeptus Arbitres jail, where he spent most of his childhood.

The people there were probably the only ones to ever help him out of kindness; Axel, a car jacker, taught him how to fix engines and the basics of driving and piloting, Psycho, a murderer considered not worth the hassle, showed him how to kill quickly and efficiently with a blade, Styx, a true artist when it came to talking people into something, explained the secrets of the human psyche to him and, at last but not least, Cook, an old thief too tired to keep running, had schooled the kid on philosophy, reading, sneaking and free thinking…

A loud whine got him jumping off his chair and running for the door in two seconds flat.

Who in terra would attack this barren rock?

0

0

0

"That's Mar Sara?" I scoff, the tiny muddied ball floating in the sky still the exact same as I recall it. There are a few ships in orbit, but nothing really threatening, just local merchant shuttle and cargo freighters, a few military interceptors as well, but they are space station based, no capital ships in sight.

"Try not to kill anyone that doesn't shoot back." I order my forces, forcing that restriction in their instinct as I speak. The 'Sister of Blades' leans back on a sphincter and crosses her arms. She thinks I'm trying to convince myself I'm the good guy. She's wrong, I just know that a cornered animal is far more dangerous than one with a way out.

I step through the sphincter and Sis follows me into the Overlord. A bunch of Zerglings are already in there, cuddled in a tight ball of fangs and claws to protect each others from any bump during the ride. I just grab a tentacle hanging overhead and so does Sis.

"We going to kill something, boss?" My gun pipes in, eager.

Are we? It feels wrong that I would go anywhere knowing my presence would cause someone's death. The natural reaction to that knowledge would be to walk the fuck away, but I need resources to stay alive and keep the Zergs that way as well. "I hope not."

Am I being selfish? Trying to save myself to the expense of countless other living beings? Is the fact we are a hive minded species make us any less valuable that individualistic species? I don't know, nobody should be able to answer that, so I'm going to give it my best shot and let natural selection decide.

Here, the plan is to drop drones and Zerglings in spore pods over two hundred locations and mine any mineral and vespene I can find, then, I'll breed some new lieutenants using Kerrigan and Sis' DNA. Not mine, I'm not a good genetic specimen. Once they got this under control, I'll have them build AA defences, air units and as much defensive structures as possible while sending me much of the resources, wait for the Tau's counter-attack. They employ many aliens, so they'll bring along plenty of genetic material. Then, I bring in the main force, which will be quite stronger by then, if what I heard about the Tau reaction speed is correct, and, finally, we'll create another Super-hive like Atlas with the biomass on the planet and send it a different way to emulate our tactics.

First things first, though; let's send the current owners on their way.


	16. Rewrite Notice

**Author's Note: I'm rewriting this story in another version called It's About Time: Psycho Edition, where Sven doesn't become the Overmind and is even more of a witty asshole. Check out this sample if you're interested:**

**Welcome to Braxis Penitential Facility Network Intelligence.**

**Login:ArkansasM**

**Password:**********

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Welcome, Director Arkansas.**

**/Accs_RootBPFNI-ADMIN**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Administrator Privileges Granted.**

**/MnGrd_0**

**/PwrGenMain_0**

**/PwrGenAux_0**

**/EmrgLD_1**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Main Defense Grid: Offline.**

**Primary Generator: Offline.**

**Secondary Generator: Offline.**

**Emergency Lockdown: Enacted.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**/D149-Opn**

**/D222-Opn**

**/D501-Opn**

**/D732-Opn**

**/HngBDr-Opn**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Door149: Open**

**Door222: Open**

**Door501: Open**

**Door732: Open**

**Hangar B Door: Open**

**/Accs_Cnvtfl-28470**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Accessing Personal Files**

**Convict: Kerensky, Vincent**

**DoB: 09/23/2471(33)**

**Height: 190cm**

**Weight: 112kg**

**Hairs: Black**

**Eyes: Green**

**Known Crimes:**

**Manslaughter**

**Grand Theft Auto**

**Qualified Theft**

**Desertion**

**Probation Violation**

**Rape**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed)**

**Forced labor**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Confederate Marine Corps.**

**Reaper Corps.**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/Accs_Cvtfl28488**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Convict: Worst, Karen**

**DoB: -**

**Height: 170cm**

**Weight: 67kg**

**Hairs: Brown**

**Eyes: Brown**

**Known Crimes:**

**Insubordination**

**Attempted Manslaughter**

**Perjury**

**Murder, First degree**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed.)**

**Forced Labor.**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Ghost Program**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/Accs_Cvtfl28466**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Convict: Fauster, Gregor**

**DoB: 11/16/2460 (44)**

**Height: 204cm**

**Weight: 166kg**

**Hairs: Gray**

**Eyes: Blue**

**Known Crimes:**

**Murder, Second and first degree**

**Drunk driving**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed.)**

**Forced Labor.**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Mar Sara Militia**

**Sons Of Korhal**

**Dominion Marine Corps.**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/Accs_Cnvtfl28469**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Convict: Kudrenkov, Sven**

**DoB: -**

**Height: 188cm**

**Weight: 86kg**

**Hairs: Brown**

**Eyes: Gray (Formerly Brown-Green)**

**Known Crimes:**

**Manslaughter**

**Insubordination**

**Treason**

**Destruction of Government assets**

**Grand Theft Auto**

**Identity Theft**

**Public Inebriation**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed.)**

**Forced Labor.**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Ghost Program**

**Project SHADOWBLADE**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/Accs_Cnvtfl28500**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Convict: Darka, Hannah**

**DoB: 01/27/2475(29)**

**Height: 158cm**

**Weight: 59kg**

**Hairs: Purple**

**Eyes: Black**

**Known Crimes:**

**Larceny**

**Murder, First degree**

**Impersonating an Officer**

**Treason**

**Drug Manufacturing**

**Drug Trafficking**

**Sentence: Death (Postponed.)**

**Forced Labor.**

**Former Affiliations:**

**Tarsonis Paramedical Response Service**

**Dominion Medical Corps.**

**Current Status: Imprisoned, BPF facility, B Bloc.**

**/SetAllCrntSts_Deceased**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Set all Convicts Current Statuses to: Deceased? [Y]/N**

**Y**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Warning, All BPF Residents Deceased.**

**/Format_RootBPFNI:**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Goodbye**

I wave the computer as it flickers off for the last time, "Bye."

Hacking is an easy task for a Spectre; all it took here was some elementary Technopathy and the computer thought I were the Prison's director; it gave me full access and even committed suicide when asked to.

Taking two steps away from the boxy terminal, I swiftly scan the dimly lit room… Actually, it's not dimly lit, it just doesn't have any bright colors, just grey and brown.

Arkansas' office is crammed with my fellow convicts, the ones who's files I just looked up, all spread around like the trained soldiers they used to be. Greg and Vincent guard the door, their shivs at the ready, while Karen and Hannah search the place for weapons. Not that there's much to search, beyond trophy cases and framed pictures… The desk is where he'd keep his gun and I already checked that; nothing.

Maybe it's unfair of me to poke around their past without permission, but I like to know who I'm dealing with, though I could easily read their minds to find what I want, that would not be much more ethical.

In any event, my new friends are exactly what I expected, nobody appears to be a snitch and we can all be best friends forever, although Karen, knowing I stuck my nose in her file, slaps the back of my head.

Hannah, the former medic and drug dealer, glances at the former Ghost, worried that she'll enact a psychotic break from that big witch doctor dude hacking Arkansas' computer.

Heh, girl's afraid I'll slash her arteries open in her sleep… I'm not the one she should fear; Karen is, but the former medic seems to think the tall, white eyed guy is more of a threat than the petite Dominion assassin.

Shit, I killed far less peoples than she did, and I can argue that the voices in my head told me to do it.

"Sven," Karen growls, "Shut the fuck up."

Whatever, cranky Ghost bitch… She's pissed off because she rated nine on the Psi Index and never expected anyone to surpass that, yet I had a rating of eight before SHADOWBLADE. Now it must be somewhere between nine and eleven…

Between nine and eleven. Don't you hat when people do that?

_ 'Somewhere between one and three…' _

_'That would be two, asshole!'_

What I actually mean is that Spectre procedure, though very effective, is still rather raw…

"Yeah, yeah, you're a tough psychic," She whines, "Can we get going now?"

"I wasn't aware this was my call…" I quip a wide smile.

Seriously, yours truly may act like a dumbass, but while the dumbass was trading jabs with Karen, the Spectre cautiously remote viewed the whole way to the exit and I now know it's crawling with convicts and guards.

Now, it's not an accurate science; Remote viewing is akin to squeezing your arm behind the couch to get the remote. Distances are weird, you only get a general feel that you really should clean up and there's parasitic stuff crawling all over.

Verdict: Dudes outside. Don't know who, don't know how many, don't know where. Sue me.

Quite frankly, all I have on Karen are Psi powers and; she, however, is a far better leader, or, at least, not quite as creepy, and definitely a better shot, just looking at the way her brain evaluates temperature, air pressure, distances and squishiness of available cover.

"Okay, we'll have to fight our way out of here. Sven will take point, Vincent, you cover the right flank, Gregor will take left, and I'll bring up the rear with Hannah."

I squeeze past the two mountains of muscle, sensing their heavily contrasting minds on the way.

Gregor used to have a family on Mar Sara and joined the militia to protect them from the Zerg. It failed, however, as the Colonial Magistrate sent him on a patrol to Blackwater station and, by the time the militiaman came back home, his whole family was kaput, torn to shred by the Zerg.

He later joined the Dominion Marines, hoping to die or get resocialized, but that never came and he only ended up causing others the same kind of pain he had felt. This messed him up even further, to the point that he got himself blind drunk, killed everyone in his section and took a Vulture hoverbike for a spin through town, hoping he'd finally bite the big bazooka.

Greg crashed his bike in a house and killed four civilians inside, one of them family package deal. Then, before he realized what had happened, he was on Braxis, mining ice. All that keeps him going is our momentum, focusing on our escape. The moment we're out of here, his mind will shatter and his soul will die, soon to be followed by his body.

Vincent, on the other hand, only remembers the smell of oranges, warm blood on his hands, satisfaction and Reaper Corps' training school.

The man doesn't give a fuck what he did before; he loves killing 'toss and bugs so, humans are boring, but what the hell, beggars can't be choosers. How he ended in prison is a very complicated story, meaning the dumbass himself doesn't know for sure.

I trust neither. The former might blow his brains out any second and the latter might blow _my_ brains out any second, but they're all we've got right now, so, what the hell, let's rock!

Actually, let's figure out where everything is first… I emerge in a silvery corridor, the rows of blast doors leading further into the facility now all open, same as the vents overhead we used to get here.

The hallway itself is large enough for four men to stand side by side with room to spare, yet we keep a tight formation. Bad idea when peoples can shoot at you, as it can get everyone in the team hit by a single burst, but with us Specters, the rules change…

There is a curve ten meters ahead and four ornate wooden doors on both sides of the hall, in between each bulkheads. Living quarters.

I point the last on the right, "Guys with shivs about to bust trough them," then to the bend, on the left. "Two dudes manning a blockade there, CMC suits, facing the wrong way."

Karen already knew, but I'm the pointman, it's my job to call out shit like that.

She distributes orders through suggestion directly in our brains. I hate it and send her a mild psionic spike in retribution, her to jump in surprise. Yet another trick I can do she cannot.

Now, my job is to dispatch the Marines without damaging their suits, so our two grunts can get some firepower. Easy as pie. Okay, I can't cook for shit, so let's say easy as Pi.

3,14159265…

First thing I do is take off my prisoner shirt, since orange is the worst camouflage ever, and tie the sleeves around my waist. The white t-shirt underneath isn't that much better, but it might give the meatheads a split-second of hesitation.

Now, I've got about thirty steps to think of which way would be best. Frying their brains would cause nose and ear bleed and that would not be optimal for whoever wears the suit next, psionically choking them would leave some time for them to retaliate.

Answer? I'll lockdown their armors and choke them. To us psychics, locking down CMC suits is almost a hobby, even Karen did it a couple of times for shit and giggles.

The others at my back, I drag my shaky carcass across the slip-proof floor with about as much paranoid care as a rooster… Seriously, that's the best analogy I can think of.

My ass and I are about five paces from the bend, close enough to hear the mechanical whining of CMC suits, when convicts with shivs bust out the room four meters back, thinking they've got the drop on us.

My attention is focused on the Marines, however. The cotton wraps around my feet did a good job of keeping them warm, but perform poorly in term of traction and I half-sprint, half crawl around the bend, right into the Marines' line of fire.

Already waiting for me, they adjust their C-14s, but only earn a dry click each and some electrical buzzing from pressing the trigger.

I flick the switches on the side of their armors, like flipping on the kitchen light, except from ten feet away, and they both freeze…. Then, my stumbling dash abruptly ends against the wall, knocking the air out of my chest for a second.

Still, guess I shouldn't complain, seeing as I cut their air supply a second later. Getting to hear their thoughts as they die is one downside of my job.

Carl, the one on the right thinks he should have called in sick this morning and went to Bacchus moon as planned, while Lenny, the one on the left regrets skipping breakfast, as he'll now die hungry.

Peoples think very strange stuff when their time has come. One time, I killed a guy who regretted never owning a dog.

Both finally die while, behind us, the two convicts are disarmed and knocked on the floor.

Worst quickly reads their minds and I just listen in on hers.

One's a child molester and quite simply can't be trusted, the other is a pyromaniac and former fireman who turned himself in after his first crime.

The former gets his throat cut open with his own knife while the latter is helped back on his feet and gets integrated to our happy little family.

Vincent gives the dead man's knife to Karen and when I ask why, she answers that I don't need one, since I'm such a powerful psychic.

Maybe there was a hint of sarcasm in there, but hey, I'm just a moronic psychopathic psychic, not a psychologist!

"Alright, smartass, can you unseal these suits?"

It's easy, as easy as walking up to the downed Marines and touching their helmets. A little Technopathic talk with the onboard computers gets them open in thirty seconds flat. That's actually long, but Worst's presence in my brain slowed down the process. She tries to be subtle when snooping around in there, but to a Terrazine enhanced high level psychic such as me, she's as subtle as a train wreck.

"Milady requires anything else?" I ask, bowing.

Vincent wants to take one of the suits, but is shoved away by Greg's massive shoulder. The former Marine decided that was his armor. Vince doesn't object.

Gregor may not like the smaller Reaper, but Vincent still views him as a role model because of his badass scars and attitude. Criminals aren't such complex beings after all, who would have thought?

The suits are the open top CMC-400 variants, allowing the wearers to remove the shoulder and helmet parts and gear up in two minutes, more or less.

The guys will take a while putting on their suit, time I use to scan every room on our path. That still counts as Remote Viewing, but it's actually closer to looking into every drawers of a poorly lit room.

Kinda hoped I'd find an armory, but no such luck, only supply depots.

So I scan the hangar itself. There is a battle there between guards and convicts… I mean, who else could be fighting in an underground penal facility?

The crew of a prison ship, here to resupply and drop off some of its cargo.

"Worst," I call, "check this shit out!" and send her an RV image of the hangar. The effort and Terrazine withdrawal trigger a few seconds of muscle spasms and intense shivering, but it soon subsides, replaced by the usual withdrawal effects…

The ship I felt is round and segmented, with four engines and a protruding control booth. No weapons, but enough room to house ten thousand Cryo-pods, at least.

All in all, the thing looks like an oversized potato that crash-landed in a scrap yard…

"We need a pilot." She mumbles, knowing full well we'll have to do some mind digging to find one in the crowd battling inside the hangar.

Fact is, we'll need an engineer, navigator, cook… A whole crew, and I think we won't need to assemble it.

That supply ship didn't come here by itself, did it? We just need to convince its crew to help us, once we find them… Somewhere in that Hangar, trading pot shots with escaped prisoners.

Karen is still plugged to my brain and she likes that idea, so she decides it will be my job to find out where they are, seeing as I can handle myself just fine. A year spent mining ice and minerals in this freeze box with minimal rations and free time has gotten pretty much everyone in this slam hard as neosteel, but Ghosts are given close combat training from the day we're eight and I have my psi powers to tilt the table further.

For the time being, however, I'll stick with the group, since we're going in the same direction… We don't have much choice in the matter; I locked down every other sections of the prison, didn't want other inmates getting in our way. So much for that idea.

Vincent calls my name, from the left, so I turn and catch the makeshift knife he was carrying, nodding in thanks.

The ex-reaper just lifts his Gauss rifle, itching to kill something with it.

The new guy, Alan Kade, has his own knife already, so Hannah finally gets a weapon, even though I don't see the frail woman stabbing anyone…

Ahead, the hallway stretches on fifty meters and ends with a flight of stairs. I scan it, but feel nothing, so I call the all clear and we get moving.

There are mobile force fields every ten meters, set up by the guards, but Worst and I shut them all down along the way. The trip itself is eventless, and even if it hadn't been, we got the firepower to knock an Ultralisk out of commission.

One we reach the stairs, Greg and Vince both take up position to the right while Karen and I set up to the left. Hannah and Alan just stand aside and let us do our shit.

Beyond the bulkhead we're cowering behind are two flights of ten steps, barely large enough to accommodate two armored men, and on top of these is a pair of Marines with ballistic alloy shields and five light infantrymen waiting to tear us to shred. They saw us coming on thermals. We know where they are and they know where we are.

Don't you just love when the number of options drops to one?

I go first, Vincent shadowing me, and use a little trick my Ghost instructor called 'Butt-fuck their brains', telling the two Marines that there are Zergs crawling behind them while fueling their fear with nightmarish images of twisted corpses and deformed monsters.

They spin and unload their rifles at point blank into their five unarmoured pals, turning the men into fine paste.

Before they can even say 'woops' Vince physically butt fucks them with 8mm subsonic spikes.

"Gruesome!" I laugh, holding myself up on the man's shoulder pad for a second as dizziness steps in. I need my fix.

Straining myself a bit to project a psi shield, I run, flanked by Vince, and once we're on top, telekinetically lift one of the AGR-14s the light boys were packing, snatch it from the air and shoot down a pair of guards running in from further into the facility.

To the right, Vince is spraying a cluster of convicts with his own rifle. Sparks fly from all around them and one is even knocked to the ground by the air disruptions, but no one dies. Not sure if this was done on purpose, Reapers aren't the greatest marksmen in the Dominion…

The guards came in from the hangar while the convicts crawled through the air duct. I mind probe every of them and find out they are mostly mercs, which is why they stuck together; three are War Pigs, one is Hammer security, another's a Dusk Wing and the last one is an Hel's Angel.

Professionals, incarcerated in another part of the slam, but smart enough to know that if they want out, they've got to find the hangar, so they crawled through the vents from the beginning of this shit, finally ending up here, hidden in the air circulation system and waiting for someone to take out that checkpoint.

Two women, four men, all veterans of the Great War, like us. Although one must admit they don't look like much with their faded orange prison uniforms, turned into very efficient camouflage suits by all the dust and grime.

I like these guys already and Karen decides we should extend an invitation to our little party. I don't say anything; instead, I mentally kick two AGR-14 their way and physically lower Vince's rifle. The leader, a black guy called Dylan, picks a rifle off the floor and nods.

It takes the other a moment to catch up, so I get to mess around with my new weapon.

The 14s line of rifles is reliable, versatile and cheaper than dirt. I've been to places where you could buy the AGR variant for the price of a meal. On Tarsonis, you can get some of those old, steel plated ones for the cost of a beer.

The one I'm holding is new, smells of oil and has smooth carbon fiber parts with no attachments whatsoever, unless you count a drum magazine as an attachment. The mag has its previous owner's name stenciled on it, _Henry Jackson,_ it reads.

I salvage and distribute whatever gear survived the hail storm; a few grenades, some regular magazines and knives, one of which I keep for myself, and we get this party moving.

We're practically at the edge of the hangar when I suddenly freeze, hit by a stray thought from the Hel's Angel and Dusk Wing. Knowledge.

Ahead, shipping crates, spare parts and forklifts are turned to cover by a handful of Marines, quite a few light troopers and every single prisoner smart enough to have found their way here. It's chaos, subsonic ammunition pinging around armoured walls and reinforced crates, smoke and extinguisher foam obscuring about half the scene and just the wailing of the wounded is enough to turn this nice and tidy loading dock into one sick rave party.

Vince, Greg and the Mercs are quick to join the fray, but I stop the pilots before they can follow.

"You guys can fly that scrap yard?" I ask, pointing to the prison ship. They both nod.

"Ain' nothin' to it, darlin'" The Banshee girl boasts, "Dave an' I can fly or drive anythin' yah want."

I like her, but then, I like just about everyone that gets the job done. Karen's satisfied with this alternative and she informs me that there is something in a nearby supply room I should check.

Ghosts are weaker than Specter, but much more focused and careful. Knowing this, I'm not amazed she felt something while I didn't, but am just a little irked I didn't smell it first…

Terrazine Infuser. _My_ Terrazine Infuser. They took it from me when I first arrived, along with my suit, gear and rifle. Maybe the whole stuff's in there… I hope so, anyway.

I'm addicted to the stuff, Terrazine I mean, it makes me strong and stops the shakes dead. Of course, I don't really need it anymore, since my body has built up a supply sufficient to keep me at my level of power for few decades, but fact is, I've seen Specters attempt to quit the stuff and end up totally fucking their brains, so I still use the infuser at a low setting, as a mean to slowly quit the stuff…

Point in case, I just spent a few months without it and the withdrawal effects are just starting to become serious.

With Karen's blessing and the others' cover, I sprint trough the hangar and away from the team. A Marine engages me and I must dive behind a pair of metal crates to avoid the onslaught of Gauss rounds.

They stick into the metal, glowing white hot and forming three white hedgehogs. Inmates and most guards use AGRs, low penetration, but Marines from the prison ship pack Impalers, the kind of firepower you'd get from an APC.

There are more crates ahead, a full blown war to the left and a metal wall to the right…

I creep into the man's brain, but am too weak to make him shoot himself. Instead, I convince that kid I'm actually behind those crates, just ahead.

He aims his gun there and I fire a single spike trough his visor.

"Night-night…" A cheesy one liner is all the apologies he'll ever get.

Going from cover to cover and firing a burst in a cluster of light infantry who were coming to investigate, I get my ass about halfway to its destination. The cluster in question never giving me room to breathe.

Sixty-six rounds remaining. To a grunt, it's not a lot, to a trained sniper like me? Well, it would be plenty if I had a scope and nobody shooting at me… Right now, it's still not a lot.

I slide under a stream of C-14 fire and drift behind cover just in time to avoid being fried by a firebat. A quick suggestion in the guy's resocced brain convinces him he should check on the two Marines advancing on my position…

Nah, you don't need to stop flaming, what's wrong with _fire_?

The Perdition twin linked plasma-based flame thrower does not penetrate the CMC-400 suits, but it does cook the wearers alive.

By the time they're dead and the Firebat is shot down by other Marines, I'm already inside the supply room, surveying it for the faint psionic 'smell' of Terrazine while firing out the door at advancing tangos.

There are ammunition crates all over and a few weapon ones as well. There's one containing C-10 rifles as well as a few explosive canister boxes, which I toss next to the door. I don't like C-10s, they shoot slowly and limit their users to a sniper role, AGR-28 DMRs are much better, in my opinion, but Karen is a Ghost and Ghosts use C-10s, so I'm taking the guns with me, as soon as I've found my Infuser…

I know it's somewhere in those square boxes, out back, but can't pinpoint where.

Enough bullshit; one psi blast wrecks the whole room, tearing every boxes apart and lifting everything touched by Terrazine at eye level.

There, found it! The silver helmet and glowing red optics are glaring at me, as if shocked and angry that I found them… The things were custom made for me and they snuggle perfectly around my head and face. This supply room is full of stuff meant for the prison ship. It's likely they want to send my suit and mask on Korhal for reverse engineering… Or as a trophy.

The HUD takes a second to initialize and soon warns me that no Hazardous Environment Suits have been detected, which means no increased strength, speed or durability.

"Shut up and pump the juice!" I growl at the machine.

Soon, my nose and mouth are filled with blood flavoured gas and the HUD points out I have a week before I need a refill.

Perfect.

My hands stop shaking and my mouth quickly dries up as I get that feeling of liberation that comes with the first rays of sun after a particularly violent storm… It's sweet as a whisper, rolling through me like hemoglobin perfumed honey.

The helmet is linked to a small box that I attach to my belt awkwardly. It's meant to be secured on specially designed clamps, in the back of my Spectre suit, but that'll do for now.

I walk out of the room, into the utter chaos beyond and send a psionic whisper to every guard and convicts in the area, accompanied by a great deal of irrational terror and an image of my helmet. A nifty trick I used on Drelor VI to disperse a crowd quickly.

"_Hell is here."_

The whisper spreads across the room like the rising tide, making every single person present attempt to get the fuck away from me.

Such a feat would have drained me just a minute ago, but now that my body has had its Terrazine fix, I am a fucking god. Of course, had Karen not bounced my Psi wave, I most likely wouldn't have affected half as many people, but now, everyone is just staring at me, terrified.

I creep in the heads of two Firebats and have them detonate their own fuel tanks while making a pair of especially weak minded Marines shoot themselves.

Needless to say, resoc or no, everyone runs the fuck out of my way and I simply walk up to the supply ship, keeping my mind open for any sort of aggressive thoughts. There are none, Karen is keeping the fear at very high levels and it paralyzes even the bravest of these bastards. I make it to the loading ramp in a minute or so, but that's long enough for Worst to turn ghostly pale and sick looking from the constant effort.

Shit, she ain't a Spectre, she can actually die from this!

I turn my attention back to the crowd and replace Karen as she collapses in Alan's arm. Behind me, the boxes clatter on the floor, breaking my focus long enough for pretty much everyone in the room to shake me out of their minds…

That technique can backfire quite badly, should the targets shake free, seeing as I suddenly become everyone's priority target.

Fortunately, this time around I'm in the ship and the ramp closes by the time everyone has truly awakened.

That was close…


End file.
